Kill 


m 


m 


/THE 

GOOD-NATURED  MAN 

A  COMEDY 


BY 


OLIVER   GOLDSMITH 

» / 

it 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  IN  COLOR 
FROM  ORIGINAL  DRAWINGS  BY 
FREDERICK  SIMPSON  COBURN 


GP  PUTNAM'S   SONS 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 

&he  "Knickerbocker  Press 


\ 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Croaker. — "Death  and  destruction/  Are  all 
the  horrors  of  the  air,  fire  and  water  to  be 
levelled  only  at  me  /"  .  .  Frontispiece 

Garnet. — "  For  being,  as  you  are,  in  love  with 
Mr.  Honeywood,  Madam. "  .  .  .  38 

Miss  Richland  (alone). — "  Honeywood  has  de- 
sired an  interview  with  me  in  private.  What 
can  he  mean  f  or  rather,  what  means  this 
palpitation  at  his  approach?"  92 

Postboy. — "  Here  is  the  incendiary  dog. "        .     108 


282472 


THE  GOOD-NATURED  MAN 

A  COMEDY 

AS    PERFORMED    AT 

THE  THEATRE-ROYAL,  COVENT  GARDEN 


London:  Printed  forW.  Griffin,  in  Catharine  Street,  Strand,  1768. 
8vo.     Price  is.  6</. 


The  Good-Natured  Man  was  first  performed  at  Covent  Garden 
Theatre  (then  under  the  management  of  the  elder  Colman), 
on  the  29th  of  January,  1768;  ran  ten  nights,  and  went 
through  at  least  five  editions  the  same  year. 

Goldsmith  seems  to  have  taken  the  hint  of  Mr.  Honeywood's 
character  (the  Good-Natured  Man  of  the  piece)  from  "  the 

celebrated  Mr.  S ,  who,  at  that  time,  went  by  the  name 

of  "the  Good-Natured  Man,"  the  lover  of  the  unfortunate 
Miss  Braddock,  commemorated  in  his  own  Life  of  Nash.  He 
owned  to  Johnson,  as  Johnson  informed  Boswell,  that  he  had 
borrowed  the  character  of  Croaker  from  Suspirius  in  The 
Rambler  (No.  59).  Mr.  Forster  has  pointed  out  resemblances 
in  the  92nd  Letter  of  The  Citizen  of  the  World.  See  Forster 's 
Goldsmith,  vol.  ii,  p.  58;  ed.  1854. 


PREFACE 

WHEN  I  undertook  to  write  a  comedy,  I  con- 
fess I  was  strongly  prepossessed  in  favour 
of  the  poets  of  the  last  age,  and  strove  to 
imitate  them.  The  term  genteel  comedy  was  then 
unknown  amongst  us,  and  little  more  was  desired 
by  an  audience  than  nature  ^nmmour,  in  what- 
ever walks  of  life  they  wei^^Mdponspicuous. 
The  author  of  the  following  scenes  never  imagined 
that  more  would  be  expected  of  him,  and  therefore 
to  delineate  character  has  been  his  principal  aim. 
Those  who  know  anything  of  composition  are  sen- 
sible that,  in  pursuing  humour,  it  will  sometimes 
lead  us  into  the  recesses  of  the  mean.  I  was  even 
tempted  to  look  for  it  in  the  master  of  a  sponging- 
house;  but  in  deference  to  the  public  taste,  grown 
of  late,  perhaps,  too  delicate,  the  scene  of  the  bail- 
iffs was  retrenched  in  the  representation.1  In  de- 

1  "The  scene  of  the  bailiffs"  in  the  opening  of  the  third  act 
appeared  so  broad  in  its  humour  as  on  the  first  night  to  keep  the 
fate  of  the  piece  some  time  in  suspense;  nor  was  its  safety  fully 
secured  till  the  fourth  act,  where  Shuter,  in  the  character  of  Croaker, 
read  the  supposed  incendiary  letter. 

5 


6  preface 

ference  also  to  the  judgment  of  a  few  friends,  who 
think  in  a  particular  way,  the  scene  is  here  restored. 
The  author  submits  it  to  the  reader  in  his  closet; 
and  hopes  that  too  much  refinement  will  not  banish 
humour  and  character  from  ours,  as  it  has  already 
done  from  the  French  theatre.  Indeed,  the  French 
comedy  is  now  become  so  very  elevated  and  senti- 
mental that  it  has  not  only  banished  humour  and 
Moliere  from  the  stage,  but  it  has  banished  all 
spectators  too.1 

Upon  the  whole,  the  author  returns  his  thanks 
to  the  public  for  the  favourable  reception  which 
The  Good-Natured  Man  has  met  with;  and  to 
Mr.  Colman2  in  particular,  for  his  kindness 

*  "  Returning  home  one  day  from  dining  at  the  chaplain's  table, 
Mr.  Johnson  told  me  that  Dr.  Goldsmith  had  given  a  very  comical 
and  unnecessarily  exact  recital  there  of  his  own  feelings  when  his  play 
was  hissed;  telling  the  company  how  he  went  to  the  Literary  Club 
at  night,  and  chatted  gaily  among  his  friends  as  if  nothing  had 
happened  amiss;  that,  to  impress  them  still  more  forcibly  with  an  idea 
of  his  magnanimity,  he  even  sung  his  favourite  song  about  'an  old 
woman  tossed  in  a  blanket  seventeen  times  as  high  as  the  moon';  but 
'all  this  while  I  was  suffering  horrid  tortures,'  said  he,  '  and  verily 
believe  that  if  I  had  put  a  bit  into  my  mouth,  it  would  have  strangled 
me  on  the  spot,  I  was  so  excessively  ill;  but  I  made  more  noise  than 
usual  to  cover  all  that;  and  so  they  never  perceived  my  not  eating, 
nor  I  believe  at  all  imagined  to  themselves  the  anguish  of  my  heart ; 
but  when  all  were  gone  except  Johnson  here  I  burst  out  a-crying, 
and  even  swore  that  I  would  never  write  again.'  'All  which,  Doctor, » 
said  Johnson,  amazed  at  his  odd  frankness,  '  I  thought  had  been  a 
secret  between  you  and  me;  and  I  am  sure  I  would  not  have  said 
anything  about  it  for  the  world.'  " — MRS.  PIOZZI'S  Anecdotes,  p.  245. 
2  George  Colman,  senior,  then  the  lessee  of  Co  vent  Garden 
Theatre. 


preface  7 

to  it.  It  may  not  also  be  improper  to  assure  any 
who  shall  hereafter  write  for  the  theatre,  that 
merit,  or  supposed  merit,  will  ever  be  a  sufficient 
passport  to  his  protection. 


PROLOGUE 

Written  by  Dr.  Johnson,  spoken  by  Mr.  Bensley  i 

PRESS'D  by  the  load  of  life,  the  weary  mind 
Surveys  the  general  toil  of  human  kind  ;2 
With  cool  submission  joins  the  laboring  train, 
And  social  sorrow  loses  half  its  pain : 3 


1  Robert  Bensley  retired  from  the  stage  6th  of  May,  1796,  on 
which  occasion  he  acted  Evander,   in  The  Grecian  Daughter,  to 
Mrs.  Siddons's  Euphrasia.     He  is  now  best  remembered  by  the  la- 
boured eulogium  of  Lamb,  in  his  delightful  essay,  On  Some  of  the 
Old  Actors. 

2  "The  first  lines  of  this  prologue   are   strongly  characteristic 
of  the  dismal  gloom  of  Johnson's  mind;  which  in  his  case,  as  in  the 
case  of  all  who  are  distressed  with  the  same  malady  of  imagination, 
transfers  to  others  its  own  feelings.     Who  could  suppose  it  was  to 
introduce  a  comedy  when  Mr.  Bensley  solemnly  began — 

Tress'd  by  the  load  of  life,  the  weary  mind 
Surveys  the  general  toil  of  human  kind  '  ? 

But  this  dark  ground  might  make  Goldsmith's  humour  shine  the 
more." — BOSWELL,  by  CROKER,  p.  189. 

a  "After  this  line  the  following  couplet  was  inserted: 
'Amidst  the  toils  of  this  returning  year, 
When  senators  and  nobles  learn  to  feart 
Our  little  bard,'  etc. 

So  the  prologue  appeared  in  The  Public  Advertiser.  Goldsmith 
probably  thought  that  the  lines  printed  in  italic  characters  might 
give  offence,  and  therefore  prevailed  on  Johnson  to  omit  them. 
The  epithet  little,  which  perhaps  the  author  thought  might  diminish 
his  dignity,  was  also  changed  to  anxious"  etc. — MALONE. 

9 


io  prologue 

Our  anxious  bard,  without  complaint,  may  share 

This  bustling  season's  epidemic  care, 

Like  Caesar's  pilot,  dignified  by  fate, 

Tost  in  one  common  storm  with  all  the  great; 

Distrest  alike,  the  statesman  and  the  wit, 

When  one  a  borough  courts,  and  one  the  pit, 

The  busy  candidates  for  power  and  fame, 

Have  hopes,  and  fears,  and  wishes,  just  the  same; 

Disabled  both,  to  combat  or  to  fly, 

Must  hear  all  taunts,  and  hear  without  reply. 

Uncheck'd,  on  both  loud  rabbles  vent  their  rage, 

As  mongrels  bay  the  lion  in  a  cage. 1 

Th'  offended  burgess  hoards  his  angry  tale, 

For  that  blest  year  when  all  that  vote  may  rail; 

Their  schemes  of  spite  the  poet's  foes  dismiss, 

Till  that  glad  night  when  all  that  hate  may  hiss. 

"This  day  the  powder'd  curls  and  golden  coat," 

Says  swelling  Crispin,  "begg'd  a  cobbler's  vote." 

"This  night,  our  wit,"  the  pert  apprentice  cries, 

"Lies  at  my  feet — I  hiss  him,  and  he  dies." 

The  great,  't  is  true,  can  charm  the  electing  tribe ; 

The  bard  may  supplicate,  but  cannot  bribe. 

Yet,  judged  by  those  whose  voices  ne'er  were  sold, 

He  feels  no  want  of  ill-persuading  gold ; 

But  confident  of  praise,  if  praise  be  due, 

Trusts  without  fear,  to  merit,  and  to  you. 


Originally : 

"  Uncheck'd  on  both  caprice  may  vent  its  rage, 
As  children  fret  the  lion  in  a  cage." 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS 


MEN. 

MR.  HONEYWOOD     . 
CROAKER 

LOFTY    .... 
SIR  WILLIAM  HONEYWOOD 
LEONTINE 
JARVIS 
BUTLER 
BAILIFF 
DUBARDIEU     . 
POSTBOY 


WOMEN 


Miss  RICHLAND 
OLIVIA  . 
MRS.  CROAKER 
GARNET. 
LANDLADY 


Mr.  Powell 
Mr.  Shuter 
Mr.  Woodward 
Mr.  Clarke 
Mr.  Bensley 
Mr.  Dunstall 
Mr.  Gushing 
Mr.  R.  Smith 
Mr.  Holtom 
Mr.  Quick 

Mrs.  Bulkley 
Mrs.  Mattocks 
Mrs.  Pitt 
Mrs.  Green 
Mrs.  White 


Scene — LONDON 


ii 


THE  GOOD-NATURED  MAN 

ACT  THE  FIRST 

SCENE — An  Apartment  in  Young  HONEY  WOOD'S  House. 
Enter  SIR  WILLIAM  HONEYWOOD,  JARVIS. 

Sir  Wm.  Good  Jarvis,  make  no  apologies  for 
this  honest  bluntness.  Fidelity  like  yours  is  the 
best  excuse  for  every  freedom. 

Jarv.  I  can't  help  being  blunt,  and  being  very 
angry  too,  when  I  hear  you  talk  of  disinheriting 
so  good,  so  worthy  a  young  gentleman  as  your 
nephew,  my  master.  All  the  world  loves  him. 

Sir  Wm.  Say  rather  that  he  loves  all  the  world; 
that  is  his  fault. 

Jarv.  I  am  sure  there  is  no  part  of  it  more  dear 
to  him  than  you  are,  though  he  has  not  seen  you 
since  he  was  a  child. 

Sir  Wm.  What  signifies  his  affection  to  me? 
or  how  can  I  be  proud  of  a  place  in  a  heart  where 
every  sharper  and  coxcomb  find  an  easy  entrance? 

Jarv.  I  grant  you  that  he  is  rather  too  good- 
is 


natured ;  that  he 's  too  much  every  man's  man; 
that  he  laughs  this  minute  with  one,  and  cries  the 
next  with  another:  but  whose  instructions  may  he 
thank  for  all  this? 

Sir  Wm.  Not  mine,  sure?  My  letters  to  him 
during  my  employment  in  Italy  taught  him  only 
that  philosophy  which  might  prevent,  not  defend 
his  errors. 

Jarv.  Faith,  begging  your  honour's  pardon, 
I'm  sorry  they  taught  him  any  philosophy  at  all; 
it  has  only  served  to  spoil  him.  This  same  philo- 
sophy is  a  good  horse  in  the  stable,  but  an  arrant 
jade  on  a  journey.  For  my  own  part,  whenever 
I  hear  him  mention  the  name  on 't,  I  'm  always 
sure  he  's  going  to  play  the  fool. 

Sir  Wm.  Don't  let  us  ascribe  his  faults  to  his 
philosophy,  I  entreat  you.  No,  Jarvis,  his  good- 
nature arises  rather  from  his  fears  of  offending 
the  importunate  than  his  desire  of  making  the 
deserving  happy. 

Jarv.  What  it  rises  from,  I  don't  know.  But, 
to  be  sure,  everybody  has  it  that  asks  it. 

Sir  Wm.  Ay,  or  that  does  not  ask  it.  I  have 
been  now  for  some  time  a  concealed  spectator 
of  his  follies,  and  find  them  as  boundless  as  his 
dissipation. 

Jarv.    And  yet,  faith,  he  has  some  fine  name  , 


15 

or  other  for  them  all.  He  calls  his  extravagance, 
generosity;  and  his  trusting  everybody,  univer- 
sal benevolence.  It  was  but  last  week  he  went 
security  for  a  fellow  whose  face  he  scarce  knew, 
and  that  he  called  an  act  of  exalted  mu — mu — 
munificence;  ay,  that  was  the  name  he  gave  it. 

Sir  Wm.  And  upon  that  I  proceed,  as  my  last 
effort,  though  with  very  little  hopes  to  reclaim 
him.  That  very  fellow  has  just  absconded,  and 
I  have  taken  up  the  security.  Now,  my  intention 
is  to  involve  him  in  fictitious  distress,  before  he 
has  plunged  himself  into  real  calamity:  to  arrest 
him  for  that  very  debt;  to  clap  an  officer  upon 
him,  and  then  let  him  see  which  of  his  friends 
will  come  to  his  relief. 

Jarv.  Well,  if  I  could  but  any  way  see  him 
thoroughly  vexed,  every  groan  of  his  would  be 
music  to  me;  yet  faith,  I  believe  it  impossible. 
I  have  tried  to  fret  him  myself  every  morning 
these  three  years;  but  instead  of  being  angry,  he 
sits  as  calmly  to  hear  me  scold  as  he  does  to  his 
hair-dresser. 

Sir  Wm.  We  must  try  him  once  more,  how- 
ever, and  1 11  go  this  instant  to  put  my  scheme 
into  execution:  and  I  don't  despair  of  succeeding, 
as,  by  your  means,  I  can  have  frequent  oppor- 
tunities of  being  about  him  without  being  known. 


1 6  abe  <5ooMRature&  fl&an 

What  a  pity  it  is,  Jar  vis,  that  any  man's  good- will 
to  others  should  produce  so  much  neglect  of  him- 
self as  to  require  correction!  Yet  we  must  touch 
his  weaknesses  with  a  delicate  hand.  There  are 
some  faults  so  nearly  allied  to  excellence  that  we 
can  scarce  weed  out  the  vice  without  eradicating 
the  virtue.  [Exit. 

Jarv.  Well,  go  thy  ways,  Sir  William  Honey- 
wood.  It  is  not  without  reason  that  the  world 
allows  thee  to  be  the  best  of  men.  But  here  comes 
his  hopeful  nephew;  the  strange,  good-natured, 
foolish,  open-hearted — and  yet,  all  his  faults  are 
such  that  one  loves  him  still  the  better  for 
them. 

Enter  HONEYWOOD. 

Honey.  Well,  Jarvis,  what  messages  from  my 
friends  this  morning  ? 

Jarv.     You  have  no  friends. 

Honey.     Well;  from  my  acquaintance  then? 

Jarv.  (Pulling  out  bills.)  A  few  of  our  usual 
cards  of  compliment,  that 's  all.  This  bill  from 
your  tailor;  this  from  your  mercer;  and  this  from 
the  little  broker  in  Crooked-lane.  He  says  he  has 
been  at  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  get  back  the 
money  you  borrowed. 

Honey.     That  I  don't  know;  but  I  am  sure  we 


ZTbe  <5oo&*Wature&  fIDan  17 

were  at  a  great  deal  of  trouble  in  getting  him  to 
lend  it. 

Jaru.    He  has  lost  all  patience. 

Honey.    Then  he  has  lost  a  very  good  thing. 

Jarv.  There 's  that  ten  guineas  you  were  send- 
ing to  the  poor  gentleman  and  his  children  in  the 
Fleet.  I  believe  that  would  stop  his  mouth  for 
a  while  at  least. 

Honey.  Ay,  Jarvis,  but  what  will  fill  their 
mouths  in  the  meantime?  Must  I  be  cruel,  be- 
cause he  happens  to  be  importunate;  and,  to 
relieve  his  avarice,  leave  them  to  insupportable 
distress  ? 

Jarv.  'Sdeath!  Sir,  the  question  now  is  how 
to  relieve  yourself — yourself.  Haven't  I  reason 
to  be  out  of  my  senses,  when  I  see  things  going 
at  sixes  and  sevens? 

Honey.  Whatever  reason  you  may  have  for 
being  out  of  your  senses,  I  hope  you  '11  allow  that 
I  am  not  quite  unreasonable  for  continuing  in 
mine. 

Jarv.  You  are  the  only  man  alive  in  your 
present  situation  that  could  do  so.  Everything 
upon  the  waste.  There  's  Miss  Richland  and  her 
fine  fortune  gone  already,  and  upon  the  point  of 
being  given  to  your  rival 

Honey.     I  'm  no  man's  rival. 


1 8  Gbe  <5oo&**Mature&  flDan 

Jarv.  Your  uncle  in  Italy  preparing  to  disin- 
herit you;  your  own  fortune  almost  spent;  and 
nothing  but  pressing  creditors,  false  friends,  and 
a  pack  of  drunken  servants  that  your  kindness 
has  made  unfit  for  any  other  family. 

Honey.  Then  they  have  the  more  occasion  for 
being  in  mine. 

Jarv.  Soh!  What  will  you  have  done  with 
him  that  I  caught  stealing  your  plate  in  the  pan- 
try? In  the  fact;  I  caught  him  in  the  fact. 

Honey.  In  the  fact?  If  so,  I  really  think 
that  we  should  pay  him  his  wages,  and  turn  him 
off. 

Jarv.  He  shall  be  turned  off  at  Tyburn,  the 
dog;  we  11  hang  him,  if  it  be  only  to  frighten  the 
rest  of  the  family. 

Honey.  No,  Jarvis;  it 's  enough  that  we  have 
lost  what  he  has  stolen;  let  us  not  add  to  it  the 
loss  of  a  fellow-creature! 

Jarv.  Very  fine!  well,  here  was  the  footman 
just  now;  to  complain  of  the  butler:  he  says  he 
does  most  work,  and  ought  to  have  most  wages. 

Honey.  That's  but  just;  though  perhaps  here 
comes  the  butler  to  complain  of  the  footman. 

Jarv.  Ay,  it 's  the  way  with  them  all,  from 
the  scullion  to  the  privy-counsellor.  If  they 
have  a  bad  master,  they  keep  quarrelling  with 


ZEbe  <5oo&*1Ratureb  fIDan  19 

him;   if  they  have  a  good    master,  they    keep 
quarrelling  with  one  another. 

Enter  BUTLER,  drunk. 

But.  Sir,  I  '11  not  stay  in  the  family  with  Jon- 
athan; you  must  part  with  him,  or  part  with  me, 
that 's  the  ex — ex — exposition  of  the  matter,  Sir. 

Honey.  Full  and  explicit  enough.  But  what 's 
his  fault,  good  Philip? 

But.  Sir,  he  's  given  to  drinking,  Sir,  and  I 
shall  have  my  morals  corrupted  by  keeping  such 
company. 

Honey.     Ha!  ha!  he  has  such  a  diverting  way — 

Jarv.     O,  quite  amusing. 

But.  I  find  my  wine  's  a-going,  Sir;  and  liquors 
don't  go  without  mouths,  Sir;  I  hate  a  drunkard, 
Sir. 

Honey.  Well,  well,  Philip,  I  '11  hear  you  upon 
that  another  time;  so  go  to  bed  now. 

Jarv.     To  bed!  let  him  go  to  the  devil. 

But.  Begging  your  honour's  pardon,  and  beg- 
ging your  pardon,  Master  Jarvis,  I'll  not  go  to  bed, 
nor  to  the  devil  neither.  I  have  enough  to  do 
to  mind  my  cellar.  I  forgot,  your  honour,  Mr. 
Croaker  is  below.  I  came  on  purpose  to  tell  you. 

Honey.  Why  did  n't  you  show  him  up,  block- 
head? 


20  Ebe  (Boob^matureb 

But.  Show  him  up,  Sir!  With  all  my  heart, 
Sir.  Up  or  down,  all 's  one  to  me.  [Exit. 

Jarv.  Ay,  we  have  one  or  other  of  that  family 
in  the  house  from  morning  till  night.  He  comes 
on  the  old  affair,  I  suppose — the  match  between 
his  son  that 's  just  returned  from  Paris,  and  Miss 
Richland,  the  young  lady  he  's  guardian  to. 

Honey.  Perhaps  so.  Mr.  Croaker,  knowing 
my  friendship  for  the  young  lady,  ha~  got  it  into 
his  head  that  I  can  persuade  her  to  what  I  please. 

Jarv.  Ah!  if  you  loved  yourself  but  half  as 
well  as  she  loves  you,  we  should  soon  see  a  mar- 
riage that  would  set  all  things  to  rights  again. 

Honey.  Love  me !  Sure,  Jarvis,  you  dream. 
No,  no;  her  intimacy  with  me  never  amounted 
to  more  than  mere  friendship — mere  friendship. 
That  she  is  the  most  lovely  woman  that  ever 
warmed  the  human  heart  with  desire,  I  own.  But 
never  let  me  harbour  a  thought  of  making  her 
unhappy,  by  a  connection  with  one  so  unworthy 
her  merits  as  I  am.  No,  Jarvis,  it  shall  be  my 
study  to  serve  her,  even  in  spite  of  my  wishes; 
and  to  secure  her  happiness,  though  it  destroys 
my  own. 

Jarv.     Was  ever  the  like  ?     I  want  patience. 

Honey.  Besides,  Jarvis,  though  I  could  obtain 
Miss  Richland's  consent,  do  you  think  I  could 


(Boofc-maturefc  flDan  21 

succeed  with  her  guardian,  or  Mrs.  Croaker,  his  wife, 
who,  though  both  very  fine  in  their  way,  are  yet  a 
little  opposite  in  their  dispositions,  you  know  ? 

Jarv.  Opposite  enough,  Heaven  knows!  the 
very  reverse  of  each  other:  she,  all  laugh  and  no 
joke;  he,  always  complaining  and  never  sorrow- 
ful; a  fretful  poor  soul,  that  has  a  new  distress 
for  every  hour  in  the  four-and-twenty 

Honey.  Hush,  hush,  he 's  coming  up,  he  11  hear 
you. 

Jarv.     One  whose  voice  is  a  passing  bell 

Honey.     Well,  well;  go,  do. 

Jarv.  A  raven  that  bodes  nothing  but  mis- 
chief; a  coffin  and  cross-bones;  a  bundle  of  rue; 
a  sprig  of  deadly  nightshade;  a — (HONEYWOOD, 
stopping  his  mouth,  at  last  pushes  him  off). 

[Exit  JARVIS. 

Honey.  I  must  own  my  old  monitor  is  not 
entirely  wrong.  There  is  something  in  my  friend 
Croaker's  conversation  that  entirely  depresses 
me.  His  very  mirth  is  quite  an  antidote  to  all 
gaiety,  and  his  appearance  has  a  stronger  effect 
on  my  spirits  than  an  undertaker's  shop. — Mr. 
Croaker,  this  is  such  a  satisfaction — 

Enter  CROAKER. 
Cro.     A  pleasant  morning  to  Mr.  Honeywood, 


22  Ebe  <5oo&*1Rature&  fIDan 

and  many  of  them.  How  is  this!  you  look  most 
shockingly  to-day,  my  dear  friend.  I  hope  this 
weather  does  not  affect  your  spirits.  To  be  sure, 
if  this  weather  continues — I  say  nothing — but  God 
send  we  be  all  better  this  day  three  months ! 

Honey.  I  heartily  concur  in  the  wish,  though, 
I  own,  not  in  your  apprehensions. 

Cro.  May  be  not.  Indeed,  what  signifies  what 
weather  we  have  in  a  country  going  to  ruin  like 
ours?  Taxes  rising  and  trade  falling.  Money 
flying  out  of  the  kingdom,  and  Jesuits  swarming 
into  it.  I  know  at  this  time  no  less  than  a  hund- 
red and  twenty-seven  Jesuits  between  Charing 
Cross  and  Temple  Bar. 

Honey.    The  Jesuits  will  scarce  pervert  you  or 

me,  I  should  hope. 

. 

Cro.  May  be  not.  Indeed,  what  signifies 
whom  they  pervert  in  a  country  that  has  scarce 
any  religion  to  lose?  I  'm  only  afraid  for  our 
wives  and  daughters. 

Honey.  I  have  no  apprehension  for  the  ladies, 
I  assure  you. 

Cro.  May  be  not.  Indeed,  what  signifies 
whether  they  be  perverted  or  no?  The  women 
in  my  time  were  good  for  something.  I  have 
seen  a  lady  drest  from  top  to  toe  in  her  own  man- 
ufactures formerly.  But  now-a-days,  the  devil 


flfcan  23 

a  thing  of  their  own  manufacture  's  about  them, 
except  their  faces. 

Honey.  But,  however  these  faults  may  be 
practised  abroad,  you  don't  find  them  at  home, 
either  with  Mrs.  Croaker,  Olivia,  or  Miss  Richland? 

Cro.  The  best  of  them  will  never  be  canonised 
for  a  saint  when  she 's  dead.  By  the  bye,  my  dear 
friend,  I  don't  find  this  match  between  Miss  Rich- 
land  and  my  son  much  relished,  either  by  one 
side  or  t'other. 

Honey.     I  thought  otherwise. 

Cro.  Ah,  Mr.  Honeywood,  a  little  of  your  fine 
serious  advice  to  the  young  lady  might  go  far:  I 
know  she  has  a  very  exalted  opinion  of  your 
understanding. 

Honey.  But  would  not  that  be  usurping  an 
authority  that  more  properly  belongs  to  your- 
self? 

Cro.  My  dear  friend,  you  know  but  little  of 
my  authority  at  home.  People  think,  indeed, 
because  they  see  me  come  out  in  a  morning  thus, 
a  pleasant  face,  and  to  make  my  friends  merry, 
that  all's  well  within.  But  I  have  cares  that 
would  break  a  heart  of  stone.  My  wife  has  so 
encroached  upon  every  one  of  my  privileges  that 
I  'm  now  no  more  than  a  mere  lodger  in  my  own 
house. 


24  $be  (BooMWaturefc  flDan 

Honey.  But  a  little  spirit  exerted  on  your  side 
might  perhaps  restore  your  authority. 

Cro.  No,  though  I  had  the  spirit  of  a  lion!  I 
do  rouse  sometimes.  But  what  then?  always 
haggling  and  haggling.  A  man  is  tired  of  getting 
the  better  before  his  wife  is  tired  of  losing  the 
victory. 

Honey.  It 's  a  melancholy  consideration  in- 
deed, that  our  chief  comforts  often  produce  our 
greatest  anxieties,  and  that  an  increase  of  our 
possessions  is  but  an  inlet  to  new  disquietudes. 

Cro.  Ah,  my  dear  friend,  these  were  the  very 
words  of  poor  Dick  Doleful  to  me  not  a  week  be- 
fore he  made  way  with  himself.  Indeed,  Mr. 
Honeywood,  I  never  see  you  but  you  put  me  in 
mind  of  poor  Dick.  Ah,  there  was  merit  neg- 
lected for  you!  and  so  true  a  friend!  we  loved 
each  other  for  thirty  years,  and  yet  he  never  asked 
me  to  lend  him  a  single  farthing. 

Honey.  Pray  what  could  induce  him  to  commit 
so  rash  an  action  at  last? 

Cro.  I  don't  know:  some  people  were  mali- 
cious enough  to  say  it  was  keeping  company  with 
me;  because  we  used  to  meet  now  and  then  and 
open  our  hearts  to  each  other.  To  be  sure  I  loved  to 
hear  him  talk,  and  he  loved  to  hear  me  talk;  poor 
dear  Dick!  He  used  to  say  that  Croaker  rhymed 


<5oo&*1Rature&  flDan  25 

to  joker;  and  so  we  used  to  laugh. — Poor  Dick! 

[Going  to  cry. 

Honey.     His  fate  affects  me. 

Cro.  Ah,  he  grew  sick  of  this  miserable  life, 
where  we  do  nothing  but  eat  and  grow  hungry, 
dress  and  undress,  get  up  and  lie  down;  while 
reason,  that  should  watch  like  a  nurse  by  our  side, 
falls  as  fast  asleep  as  we  do. 

Honey.  To  say  a  truth,  if  we  compare  that 
part  of  our  life  which  is  to  come  by  that  which 
we  have  past,  the  prospect  is  hideous.1 

Cro.  Life  at  the  greatest  and  best  is  but  a  fro- 
ward  child,  that  must  be  humoured  and  coaxed 
a  little  till  it  falls  asleep,  and  then  all  the  care  is 
over.2 

Honey.  Very  true,  Sir;  nothing  can  exceed 
the  vanity  of  our  existence,  but  the  folly  of  our 
pursuits.  We  wept  when  we  came  into  the  world, 
and  every  day  tells  us  why. 

Cro.  Ah,  my  dear  friend,  it  is  a  perfect  satisfac- 
tion to  be  miserable  with  you.  My  son  Leontine 
shan't  lose  the  benefit  of  such  a  fine  conversa- 


1  "If   I  should  judge  of  that  part  of  life   which  lies  before  me 
by  that  which  I  have  already  seen,  the  prospect  is  hideous." — 
The  Citizen  of  the  World,  Letter  Ixxiii. 

2  Mr.  Croaker  here  repeats,  almost  verbatim,  the  last  sentence 
in  Sir  William  Temple's  "Discourse  of  Poetry."      (See  Temple's 
Works,  ed.  1720,  i.,  249.)    Compare  The  Citizen  of  the  World,  Letter 
cxvii.,  and  The  Bee,  No.  iv. 


26  £be  <5oo&-mature& 

tion.  1 11  just  step  home  for  him.  I  am  willing 
to  show  him  so  much  seriousness  in  one  scarce 
older  than  himself.  And  what  if  I  bring  my 
last  letter  to  the  Gazetteer  on  the  increase  and 
progress  of  earthquakes?  It  will  amuse  us,  I 
promise  you.  I  there  prove  how  the  late  earth- 
quake is  coming  round  to  pay  us  another  visit, 
from  London  to  Lisbon  from  Lisbon  to  the 
Canary  Islands,  from  the  Canary  Islands  to  Pal- 
myra, from  Palmyra  to  Constantinople,  and  so 
from  Constantinople  back  to  London  again.  [Exit. 
Honey.  Poor  Croaker!  his  situation  deserves 
the  utmost  pity.  I  shall  scarce  recover  my  spirits 
these  three  days.  Sure  to  live  upon  such  terms 
is  worse  than  death  itself!  And  yet,  when  I  con- 
sider my  own  situation, — a  broken  fortune,  a 
hopeless  passion,  friends  in  distress,  the  wish  but 
not  the  power  to  serve  them  —  (pausing  and 
sighing). 

Enter  BUTLER. 

But.  More  company  below,  Sir;  Mrs.  Croaker 
and  Miss  Richland:  shall  I  show  them  up?  but 
they  're  showing  up  themselves.  [Exit. 

Enter  MRS.  CROAKER  and  Miss  RICHLAND. 

Miss  Rich.     You  're  always  in  such  spirits. 
Mrs.  Cro.     We  have  just  come,  my  dear  Honey- 


(BooMRatureb  fIDan  27 

wood,  from  the  auction.  There  was  the  old  deaf 
dowager,  as  usual,  bidding  like  a  fury  against  her- 
self. And  then  so  curious  in  antiques!  herself 
the  most  genuine  piece  of  antiquity  in  the  whole 
collection. 

Honey.  Excuse  me,  ladies,  if  some  uneasiness 
from  friendship  makes  me  unfit  to  share  in  this 
good-humour:  I  know  you'll  pardon  me. 

Mrs.  Cro.  I  vow  he  seems  as  melancholy  as 
if  he  had  taken  a  dose  of  my  husband  this  morning. 
Well,  if  Richland  here  can  pardon  you,  I  must. 

Miss  Rich.  You  would  seem  to  insinuate, 
Madam,  that  I  have  particular  reasons  for  being 
disposed  to  refuse  it. 

Mrs.  Cro.  Whatever  I  insinuate,  my  dear, 
don't  be  so  ready  to  wish  an  explanation. 

Miss  Rich.  I  own  I  should  be  sorry  Mr.  Honey- 
wood's  long  friendship  and  mine  should  be 
misunderstood. 

Honey.  There  's  no  answering  for  others, 
Madam.  But  I  hope  you  '11  never  find  me  pre- 
suming to  offer  more  than  the  most  delicate  friend- 
ship may  readily  allow. 

Miss  Rich.  And  I  shall  be  prouder  of  such  a 
tribute  from  you  than  the  most  passionate  pro- 
fessions from  others. 

Honey.    My  own  sentiments,  Madam:  friendship 


28  Gbe  <5oolvWature&  flDan 

is  a  disinterested  commerce  between  equals;  love, 
an  abject  intercourse  between  tyrants  and  slaves. 

Miss  Rich.  And,  without  compliment,  I  know 
none  more  disinterested,  or  more  capable  of  friend- 
ship, than  Mr.  Honeywood. 

Mrs.  Cro.  And,  indeed,  I  know  nobody  that 
has  more  friends,  at  least  among  the  ladies.  Miss 
Fruzz,  Miss  Oddbody,  and  Miss  Winterbottom, 
praise  him  in  all  companies.  As  for  Miss  Biddy 
Bundle,  she  's  his  professed  admirer. 

Miss  Rich.  Indeed!  an  admirer! — I  did  not 
know,  Sir,  you  were  such  a  favourite  there.  But 
is  she  seriously  so  handsome?  Is  she  the  mighty 
thing  talked  of? 

Honey.  The  town,  Madam,  seldom  begins  to 
praise  a  lady's  beauty  till  she  's  beginning  to  lose 
it — (smiling). 

Mrs.  Cro.  But  she  's  resolved  never  to  lose  it, 
it  seems;  for,  as  her  natural  face  decays,  her  skill 
improves  in  making  the  artificial  one.  Well,  no- 
thing diverts  me  more  than  one  of  these  fine,  old, 
dressy  things,  who  thinks  to  conceal  her  age  by 
everywhere  exposing  her  person;  sticking  herself 
up  in  the  front  of  a  side-box;  trailing  through  a 
minuet  at  Almack's;  and  then,  in  the  public  gar- 
dens, looking  for  all  the  world  like  one  of  the 
painted  ruins  of  the  place. 


(BooMRaturefc  flfcan          29 

Honey.  Every  age  has  its  admirers,  ladies. 
While  you,  perhaps,  are  trading  among  the  warmer 
climates  of  youth,  there  ought  to  be  some  to  carry 
on  a  useful  commerce  in  the  frozen  latitudes  be- 
yond fifty. 

Miss  Rich.  But,  then,  the  mortifications  they 
must  suffer,  before  they  can  be  fitted  out  for  traffic. 
I  have  seen  one  of  them  fret  a  whole  morning  at 
her  hair-dresser,  when  all  the  fault  was  her 
face. 

Honey.  And  yet,  I  '11  engage,  has  carried  that 
at  last  to  a  very  good  market.  This  good-natured 
town,  Madam,  has  husbands,  like  spectacles,  to  fit 
every  age,  from  fifteen  to  fourscore. 

Mrs.  Cro.  Well,  you  're  a  dear,  good-natured 
creature.  But  you  know  you  're  engaged  with  us 
this  morning  upon  a  strolling  party.  I  want  to 
show  Olivia  the  town,  and  the  things;  I  believe  I 
shall  have  business  for  you  for  the  whole  day. 

Honey.  I  am  sorry,  Madam,  I  have  an  appoint- 
ment with  Mr.  Croaker,  which  it  is  impossible  to 
put  off. 

Mrs.  Cro.  What!  with  my  husband?  Then 
I  'm  resolved  to  take  no  refusal.  Nay,  I  protest 
you  must.  You  know  I  never  laugh  so  much  as 
with  you. 

Honey.     Why,  if  I  must,  I  must.     I  '11  swear 


30  Ebe  0oo&*mature&  flDan 

you  have  put  me  into  such  spirits.  Well,  do  you 
find  jest,  and  I  '11  find  laugh,  I  promise  you. 
We  11  wait  for  the  chariot  in  the  next  room. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter  LEONTINE  and  OLIVIA. 

Leon.  There  they  go,  thoughtless  and  happy. 
My  dearest  Olivia,  what  would  I  give  to  see  you 
capable  of  sharing  in  their  amusements,  and  as 
cheerful  as  they  are. 

Olivia.  How,  my  Leontine,  how  can  I  be 
cheerful,  when  I  have  so  many  terrors  to  oppress 
me?  The  fear  of  being  detected  by  this  family, 
and  the  apprehensions  of  a  censuring  world,  when 
I  must  be  detected 

Leon.  The  world,  my  love!  what  can  it  say? 
At  worst  it  can  only  say  that,  being  compelled  by 
a  mercenary  guardian  to  embrace  a  life  you  dis- 
liked, you  formed  a  resolution  of  flying  with  the 
man  of  your  choice;  that  you  confided  in  his  hon- 
our, and  took  refuge  in  my  father's  house — the 
only  one  where  you  could  remain  without  censure. 

Olivia.  But  consider,  Leontine,  your  disobe- 
dience and  my  indiscretion;  your  being  sent  to 
France,  to  bring  home  a  sister,  and,  instead  of  a 
sister,  bringing  home 

Leon.    One  dearer  than  a  thousand  sisters.    One 


<5oob«*1Raturel>  flDan 

that  I  am  convinced  will  be  equally  dear  to  the 
rest  of  the  family,  when  she  comes  to  be  known. 

Olivia.     And  that,  I  fear,  will  shortly  be. 

Leon.  Impossible,  till  we  ourselves  think  proper 
to  make  this  discovery.  My  sister,  you  know,  has 
been  with  her  aunt,  at  Lyons,  since  she  was  a  child, 
and  you  find  every  creature  in  the  family  takes 
you  for  her. 

Olivia.  But  may  n't  she  write,  may  n't  her 
aunt  write? 

Leon.  Her  aunt  scarce  ever  writes,  and  all  my 
sister's  letters  are  directed  to  me. 

Olivia.  But  won't  your  refusing  Miss  Richland, 
for  whom  you  know  the  old  gentleman  intends  you, 
create  a  suspicion  ? 

Leon.  There,  there  's  my  master-stroke.  I  have 
resolved  not  to  refuse  her  ;  nay,  an  hour  hence 
I  have  consented  to  go  with  my  father  to  make 
her  an  offer  of  my  heart  and  fortune. 

Olivia.     Your  heart  and  fortune! 

Leon.  Don't  be  alarmed,  my  dearest.  Can 
Olivia  think  so  meanly  of  my  honour  or  my  love, 
as  to  suppose  I  could  ever  hope  for  happiness  from 
any  but  her?  No,  my  Olivia,  neither  the  force, 
nor,  permit  me  to  add,  the  delicacy  of  my  passion, 
leaves  any  room  to  suspect  me.  I  only  offer  Miss 
Richland  a  heart  I  am  convinced  she  will  refuse; 


32  Ztbe  <5ooMRature&  fl&an 

as  I  am  confident  that,  without  knowing  it,  her 
affections  are  fixed  upon  Mr.  Honeywood. 

Olivia.  Mr.  Honeywood!  You  '11  excuse  my 
apprehensions;  but  when  your  merits  come  to  be 
put  in  the  balance 

Leon.  You  view  them  with  too  much  par- 
tiality. However,  by  making  this  offer,  I  show  a 
seeming  compliance  with  my  father's  command  ; 
and,  perhaps,  upon  her  refusal,  I  may  have  his 
consent  to  choose  for  myself. 

Olivia.  Well,  I  submit.  And  yet,  my  Leontine, 
I  own  I  shall  envy  her  even  your  pretended  ad- 
dresses. I  consider  every  look,  every  expression  of 
your  esteem,  as  due  only  to  me.  This  is  folly,  per- 
haps :  I  allow  it,  but  it  is  natural  to  suppose  that 
merit  which  has  made  an  impression  on  one's  own 
heart  may  be  powerful  over  that  of  another. 

Leon.  Don't,  my  life's  treasure,  don't  let  us 
make  imaginary  evils,  when  you  know  we  have  so 
many  real  ones  to  encounter.  At  worst,  you  know, 
if  Miss  Richland  should  consent,  or  my  father 
refuse  his  pardon,  it  can  but  end  in  a  trip  to  Scot- 
land; and 

Enter  CROAKER. 

Cro.  Where  have  you  been,  boy?  I  have  been 
seeking  you.  My  friend  Honeywood  here  has  been 


(BooMRaturefc  fIDan  33 

saying  such  comfortable  things.  Ah!  he  's  an  ex- 
ample indeed.  Where  is  he?  I  left  him  here. 

Leon.  Sir,  I  believe  you  may  see  him,  and  hear 
him  too,  in  the  next  room;  he  's  preparing  to  go 
out  with  the  ladies. 

Cro.  Good  gracious!  can  I  believe  my  eyes  and 
my  ears!  I  'm  struck  dumb  with  his  vivacity,  and 
stunned  with  the  loudness  of  his  laugh.  Was  there 
ever  such  a  transformation!  (A  laugh  behind  the 
scenes,  CROAKER  mimics  it.)  Ha!  ha!  ha!  there 
it  goes:  a  plague  take  their  balderdash!  Yet  I 
could  expect  nothing  less,  when  my  precious  wife 
was  of  the  party.  On  my  conscience,  I  believe 
she  could  spread  a  horse-laugh  through  the  pews 
of  a  tabernacle. 

Leon.  Since  you  find  so  many  objections  to  a 
wife,  Sir,  how  can  you  be  so  earnest  in  recom- 
mending one  to  me? 

Cro.  I  have  told  you,  and  tell  you  again,  boy, 
that  Miss  Richland's  fortune  must  not  go  out  of 
the  family;  one  may  find  comfort  in  the  money, 
whatever  one  does  in  the  wife. 

Leon.  But,  Sir,  though,  in  obedience  to  your 
desire,  I  am  ready  to  marry  her,  it  may  be  possible 
she  has  no  inclination  to  me. 

Cro.  I  '11  tell  you  once  for  all  how  it  stands.  A 
good  part  of  Miss  Richland's  large  fortune  consists 


VOL.  II. — .3 


34  £be  (Soo&^IRatureb  ftoan 

in  a  claim  upon  Government,  which  my  good 
friend  Mr.  Lofty  assures  me  the  Treasury  will 
allow.  One  half  of  this  she  is  to  forfeit,  by  her 
father's  will,  in  case  she  refuses  to  marry  you. 
So,  if  she  rejects  you,  we  seize  half  her  fortune; 
if  she  accepts  you,  we  seize  the  whole,  and  a  fine 
girl  into  the  bargain. 

Leon.     But,  Sir,  if  you  will  but  listen  to  reason — 

Cro.  Come  then,  produce  your  reasons.  I 
tell  you,  I  'm  fixed,  determined;  so  now  produce 
your  reasons.  When  I  'm  determined,  I  always 
listen  to  reason,  because  it  can  then  do  no  harm. 

Leon.  You  have  alleged  that  a  mutual  choice 
was  the  first  requisite  in  matrimonial  happiness. 

Cro.  Well,  and  you  have  both  of  you  a  mutual 
choice.  She  has  her  choice — to  marry  you,  or 
lose  half  her  fortune;  and  you  have  your  choice 
—to  marry  her,  or  pack  out  of  doors  without  any 
fortune  at  all. 

Leon.  An  only  son,  Sir,  might  expect  more 
indulgence. 

Cro.  An  only  father,  Sir,  might  expect  more 
obedience:  besides,  has  not  your  sister  here,  that 
never  disobliged  me  in  her  life,  as  good  a  right  as 
you?  He  's  a  sad  dog,  Livy,  my  dear,  and  would 
take  all  from  you.  But  he  shan't,  I  tell  you  he 
shan't,  for  you  shall  have  your  share. 


flDan  35 

Olivia.  Dear  Sir,  I  wish  you  'd  be  convinced 
that  I  can  never  be  happy  in  any  addition  to  my 
fortune  which  is  taken  from  his. 

Cro.  Well,  well,  it  's  a  good  child,  so  say  no 
more;  but  come  with  me,  and  we  shall  see  some- 
thing that  will  give  us  a  great  deal  of  pleasure,  I 
promise  you:  old  Rugging,  the  curry-comb  maker, 
lying  in  state;  I  am  told  he  makes  a  very  hand- 
some corpse,  and  becomes  his  coffin  prodigiously.1 
He  was  an  intimate  friend  of  mine,  and  these  are 
friendly  things  we  ought  to  do  for  each  other. 

[Exeunt. 

1  Compare  Letter  xii.  of  The  Citizen  of  the  World. 


ACT  THE  SECOND 
SCENE — CROAKER'S  House.    Miss  RICHLAND,  GARNET. 

Miss  Rich.  Olivia  not  his  sister?  Olivia  not 
Leontine's  sister?  You  amaze  me  ! 

Garn.  No  more  his  sister  than  I  am;  I  had  it 
all  from  his  own  servant:  I  can  get  anything  from 
that  quarter. 

Miss  Rick.     But  how?    Tell  me  again,  Garnet. 

Garn.  Why,  Madam,  as  I  told  you  before, 
instead  of  going  to  Lyons  to  bring  home  his  sister, 
who  has  been  there  with  her  aunt  these  ten  years, 
he  never  went  further  than  Paris:  there  he  saw 
and  fell  in  love  with  this  young  lady — by  the  bye, 
of  a  prodigious  family. 

Miss  Rick.  And  brought  her  home  to  my  guar- 
dian as  his  daughter? 

Garn.  Yes,  and  daughter  she  will  be.  If  he 
don't  consent  to  their  marriage,  they  talk  of  trying 
what  a  Scotch  parson  can  do. 

Miss  Rick.    Well,  I  own  they  have  deceived  me. 

And  so  demurely  as  Olivia  carried  it  too! — Would 

36 


Gbe  ®oofc*Kature&  flDan  37 

you  believe  it,  Garnet,  I  told  her  all  my  secrets; 
and  yet  the  sly  cheat  concealed  all  this  from  me  ? 

Garn.  And,  upon  my  word,  Madam,  I  don't 
much  blame  her:  she  was  loth  to  trust  one  with 
her  secrets,  that  was  so  very  bad  at  keeping  her  own. 

Miss  Rich.  But,  to  add  to  their  deceit,  the 
young  gentleman,  it  seems,  pretends  to  make  me 
serious  proposals.  My  guardian  and  he  are  to  be 
here  presently,  to  open  the  affair  in  form.  You 
know  I  am  to  lose  half  my  fortune  if  I  refuse 
him. 

Garn.  Yet,  what  can  you  do?  For  being,  as 
you  are,  in  love  with  Mr.  Honeywood,  Madam 

Miss  Rich.  How!  idiot,  what  do  you  mean? 
In  love  with  Mr.  Honeywood!  Is  this  to  provoke 
me? 

Garn.  That  is,  Madam,  in  friendship  with  him; 
I  meant  nothing  more  than  friendship,  as  I  hope 
to  be  married;  nothing  more. 

Miss  Rich.  Well,  no  more  of  this.  As  to  my 
guardian  and  his  son,  they  shall  find  me  prepared 
to  receive  them:  I  'm  resolved  to  accept  their  pro- 
posal with  seeming  pleasure,  to  mortify  them  by 
compliance,  and  so  throw  the  refusal  at  last  upon 
them. 

Garn.  Delicious!  and  that  will  secure  your 
whole  fortune  to  yourself.  Well,  who  could  have 


38 

thought  so  innocent  a  face  could  cover  so  much 
'cuteness! 

Miss  Rich.  Why,  girl,  I  only  oppose  my  pru- 
dence to  their  cunning,  and  practise  a  lesson  they 
have  taught  me  against  themselves. 

Garn.  Then  you  're  likely  not  long  to  want 
employment,  for  here  they  come,  and  in  close 
conference. 

Enter  CROAKER,  LEONTINE. 

Leon.  Excuse  me,  Sir,  if  I  seem  to  hesitate 
upon  the  point  of  putting  to  the  lady  so  important 
a  question. 

Cro.  Lord!  good  Sir,  moderate  your  fears; 
you  're  so  plaguy  shy  that  one  would  think  you 
had  changed  sexes.  I  tell  you  we  must  have  the 
half  or  the  whole.  Come,  let  me  see  with  what 
spirit  you  begin:  Well,  why  don't  you?  Eh! 
what  ?  Well  then — I  must,  it  seems — Miss  Rich- 
land,  my  dear,  I  believe  you  guess  at  our  business; 
an  affair  which  my  son  here  comes  to  open,  that 
nearly  concerns  your  happiness. 

Miss  Rick.  Sir,  I  should  be  ungrateful  not  to 
be  pleased  with  any  thing  that  comes  recommended 
by  you. 

Cro.  How,  boy,  could  you  desire  a  finer  open- 
ing? Why  don't  you  begin,  I  say?  [To  LEONTINE. 

Leon.     'T  is  true,  Madam,  my  father,  Madam, 


(BooMRatureb  flDan  39 

lias  some  intentions — hem — of  explaining  an  affair 
—which — himself — can  best  explain,  Madam. 

Cro.  Yes,  my  dear;  it  comes  entirely  from  my 
son;  it  's  all  a  request  of  his  own,  Madam.  And 
I  will  permit  him  to  make  the  best  of  it. 

Leon.  The  whole  affair  is  only  this,  Madam: 
my  father  has  a  proposal  to  make,  which  he  in- 
sists none  but  himself  shall  deliver. 

Cro.  My  mind  misgives  me,  the  fellow  will 
never  be  brought  on  (aside).  In  short,  Madam, 
you  see  before  you  one  that  loves  you,  one  whose 
whole  happiness  is  all  in  you. 

Miss  Rich.  I  never  had  any  doubts  of  your 
regard,  Sir;  and  I  hope  you  can  have  none  of  my 
-duty. 

Cro.  That  's  not  the  thing,  my  little  sweeting; 
my  love!  No,  no,  another-guess  lover  than  I: 
there  he  stands,  Madam^  his  very  looks  declare 
the  force  of  his  passion— Call  up  a  look,  you  dog! 
(aside). — But  then,  had  you  seen  him,  as  I  have, 
weeping,  speaking  soliloquies  and  blank  verse, 
sometimes  melancholy,  and  sometimes  absent 

Miss  Rick.  I  fear,  Sir,  he  's  absent  now;  or 
such  a  declaration  would  have  come  most  properly 
from  himself. 

Cro.  Himself,  Madam!  he  would  die  before 
he  could  make  such  a  confession;  and  if  he  had 


40  Gbe  <5oob*1Rature&  flDan 

not  a  channel  for  his  passion  through  me,  it  would 
ere  now  have  drowned  his  understanding. 

Miss  Rich.  I  must  grant,  Sir,  there  are  at- 
tractions in  modest  diffidence  above  the  force  of 
words.  A  silent  address  is  the  genuine  eloquence 
of  sincerity. 

Cro.  Madam,  he  has  forgot  to  speak  any  other 
language;  silence  is  become  his  mother-tongue. 

Miss  Rich.  And  it  must  be  confessed,  Sir,  it 
speaks  very  powerfully  in  his  favour.  And  yet 
I  shall  be  thought  too  forward  in  making  such  a 
confession;  shan't  I,  Mr.  Leontine? 

Leon.  Confusion!  my  reserve  will  undo  me. 
But,  if  modesty  attracts  her,  impudence  may 
disgust  her.  I  11  try  (aside).  Don't  imagine 
from  my  silence,  Madam,  that  I  want  a  due  sense 
of  the  honour  and  happiness  intended  me.  My 
father,  Madam,  tells  me  your  humble  servant  is 
not  wholly  indifferent  to  you — he  admires  you: 
I  adore  you ;  and  when  we  come  together,  upon 
my  soul  I  believe  we  shall  be  the  happiest  couple 
in  all  St.  James's. 

Miss  Rich.  If  I  could  flatter  myself  you  thought 
as  you  speak,  Sir 

Leon.  Doubt  my  sincerity,  Madam?  By  your 
dear  self  I  swear.  Ask  the  brave  if  they  desire 
glory?  ask  cowards  if  they  covet  safety 


Gbe  <5ooMRature&  flDan  41 

Cro.     Well,  well,  no  more  questions  about  it. 

Leon.  Ask  the  sick  if  they  long  for  health? 
ask  misers  if  they  love  money?  ask 

Cro.  Ask  a  fool  if  he  can  talk  nonsense!  What's 
come  over  the  boy?  What  signifies  asking,  when 
there  's  not  a  soul  to  give  you  an  answer  ?  If  you 
would  ask  to  the  purpose,  ask  this  lady's  consent 
to  make  you  happy. 

Miss  Rick.  Why,  indeed,  Sir,  his  uncommon 
ardour  almost  compels  me — forces  me  to  comply. 
And  yet  I  'm  afraid  he  11  despise  a  conquest 
gained  with  too  much  ease ;  won't  you,  Mr, 
Leontine? 

Leon.  Confusion!  (aside).  Oh,  by  no  means, 
Madam,  by  no  means.  And  yet,  Madam,  you 
talked  of  force.  There  is  nothing  I  would  avoid 
so  much  as  compulsion  in  a  thing  of  this  kind. 
No,  Madam,  I  will  still  be  generous,  and  leave  you 
at  liberty  to  refuse. 

Cro.  But  I  tell  you,  Sir,  the  lady  is  not  at 
liberty.  It  's  a  match.  You  see  she  says  nothing. 
Silence  gives  consent. 

Leon.  But,  Sir,  she  talked  of  force.  Consider, 
Sir,  the  cruelty  of  constraining  her  inclinations. 

Cro.  But  I  say  there  's  no  cruelty.  Don't 
you  know,  blockhead,  that  girls  have  always  a 
roundabout  way  of  saying  "yes"  before  company? 


42  Cbe  <5oob*1Raturel>  ftoan 

So  get  you  both  gone  together  into  the  next  room, 
and  hang  him  that  interrupts  the  tender  explana- 
tion.    Get  you  gone,  I  say;  I  '11  not  hear  a  word. 
Leon.     But,  Sir,  I  must  beg  leave  to  insist — 
Cro.     Get  off,  you  puppy,  or  1 11  beg  leave  to 
insist  upon  knocking  you  down.     Stupid  whelp! 
But  I  don't  wonder:  the  boy  takes  entirely  after  his 
mother.     [Exeunt  Miss  HIGHLAND  and  LEONTINE. 

Enter  MRS.  CROAKER. 

Mrs.  Cro.  Mr.  Croaker,  I  bring  you  something, 
my  dear,  that  I  believe  will  make  you  smile. 

Cro.     I  '11  hold  you  a  guinea  of  that,  my  dear. 

Mrs.  Cro.  A  letter;  and,  as  I  knew  the  hand, 
I  ventured  to  open  it. 

Cro.  And  how  can  you  expect  your  breaking 
open  my  letters  should  give  me  pleasure  ? 

Mrs.  Cro.  Poo!  it 's  from  your  sister  at  Lyons, 
and  contains  good  news;  read  it. 

Cro.  What  a  Frenchified  cover  is  here!  That 
sister  of  mine  has  some  good  qualities,  but  I  could 
never  teach  her  to  fold  a  letter. 

Mrs.  Cro.  Fold  a  fiddlestick.  Read  what  it 
contains. 

CROAKER  (reading). 
"DEAR  NICK: 

"An  English  gentleman,  of  large  fortune,  has 


(SooNHaturefc  flDan  43 

for  some  time  made  private,  though  honourable, 
proposals  to  your  daughter  Olivia.  They  love 
each  other  tenderly,  and  I  find  she  has  consented, 
without  letting  any  of  the  family  know,  to  crown 
his  addresses.  As  such  good  offers  don't  come 
every  day,  your  own  good  sense,  his  large  fortune, 
and  family  considerations,  will  induce  you  to  for- 
give her. 

"Yours  ever, 

11  RACHEL  CROAKER/' 

My  daughter  Olivia  privately  contracted  to  a 
man  of  large  fortune!  This  is  good  news,  indeed. 
My  heart  never  foretold  me  of  this.  And  yet  how 
slily  the  little  baggage  has  carried  it  since  she 
came  home;  not  a  word  on  't  to  the  old  ones  for 
the  world.  Yet  I  thought  I  saw  something  she 
wanted  to  conceal. 

Mrs.  Cro.  Well,  if  they  have  concealed  their 
amour,  they  shan't  conceal  their  wedding;  that 
shall  be  public,  I  'm  resolved. 

Cro.  I  tell  thee,  woman,  the  wedding  is  the 
most  foolish  part  of  the  ceremony.  I  can  never 
get  this  woman  to  think  of  the  most  serious  part 
of  the  nuptial  engagement. 

Mrs.  Cro.  What  would  you  have  me  think  of, 
their  funeral?  But  come,  tell  me,  my  dear,  don't 


44  Sbe  <5oo&**Wature&  flDan 

you  owe  more  to  me  than  you  care  to  confess? 
Would  you  have  ever  been  known  to  Mr.  Lofty, 
who  has  undertaken  Miss  Richland's  claim  at  the 
Treasury,  but  for  me?  Who  was  it  first  made 
him  an  acquaintance  at  Lady  Shabbaroon's  rout  ? 
Who  got  him  to  promise  us  his  interest?  Is  not 
he  a  backstairs  favourite,  one  that  can  do  what 
he  pleases  with  those  that  do  what  they  please? 
Is  not  he  an  acquaintance  that  all  your  groaning 
and  lamentation  could  never  have  got  us? 

Cro.  He  is  a  man  of  importance,  I  grant  you. 
And  yet  what  amazes  me  is  that,  while  he  is  giving 
away  places  to  all  the  world,  he  can't  get  one  for 
himself. 

Mrs.  Cro.  That  perhaps  may  be  owing  to  his 
nicety.  Great  men  are  not  easily  satisfied. 

Enter  French  Servant. 

Serv.  An  expresse  from  Monsieur  Lofty.  He 
vil  be  vait  upon  your  honours  instammant.  He 
be  only  giving  four  five  instruction,  read  two  tree 
memorial,  call  upon  von  ambassadeur.  He  vil 
be  vid  you  in  two  tree  minutes. 

Mrs.  Cro.  You  see  now,  my  dear.  What  an 
extensive  department!  Well,  friend,  let  your 
master  know  that  we  are  extremely  honoured  by 
this  honour.  Was  there  anything  ever  in  a  higher 


<5oob>*1Rature&  flDan  45 

style  of  breeding?  All  messages  among  the  great 
are  now  done  by  express. 

Cro.  To  be  sure,  no  man  does  little  things  with 
more  solemnity,  or  claims  more  respect  than  he. 
But  he  's  in  the  right  on  't.  In  our  bad  world, 
respect  is  given  where  respect  is  claimed. 

Mrs.  Cro.  Never  mind  the  world,  my  dear; 
you  were  never  in  a  pleasanter  place  in  your  life. 
Let  us  now  think  of  receiving  him  with  proper 
respect — (a  loud  rapping  at  ike  door), — and  there 
he  is,  by  the  thundering  rap. 

Cro.  Ay,  verily,  there  he  is!  as  close  upon  the 
heels  of  his  own  express  as  an  indorsement  upon 
the  back  of  a  bill.  Well,  1 11  leave  you  to  receive 
him,  whilst  I  go  to  chide  my  little  Olivia  for  intend- 
ing to  steal  a  marriage  without  mine  or  her  aunt's 
consent.  I  must  seem  to  be  angry,  or  she  too  may 
begin  to  despise  my  authority.  [Exit. 

Enter  LOFTY,  speaking  to  his  Servant. 

Lofty.  "And  if  the  Venetian  ambassador,  or 
that  teasing  creature  the  Marquis,  should  call,  I  'm 
not  at  home.  Dam'me,  I  '11  be  pack-horse  to  none 
of  them."  My  dear  Madam,  I  have  just  snatched 
a  moment — "And  if  the  expresses  to  his  Grace  be 
ready,  let  them  be  sent  off;  they  're  of  impor- 
tance."— Madam,  I  ask  a  thousand  pardons. 


46  £be  <5oot>-1Ratureb 

Mrs.  Cro.     Sir,  this  honour 

Lofty.  "And,  Dubardieu!  if  the  person  calls 
about  the  commission,  let  him  know  that  it  is 
made  out.  As  for  Lord  Cumbercourt's  stale 
request,  it  can  keep  cold:  you  understand  me." — 
Madam,  I  ask  ten  thousand  pardons. 

Mrs.  Cro.     Sir,  this  honour 

Lofty.  ' l  And,  Dubardieu !  if  the  man  comes  from 
the  Cornish  borough,  you  must  do  him;  you  must 
do  him,  I  say/' — Madam,  I  ask  ten  thousand  par- 
dons.— "And  if  the  Russian  ambassador  calls,  but 
he  will  scarce  call  to-day,  I  believe." — And  now, 
Madam,  I  have  just  got  time  to  express  my  happi- 
ness in  having  the  honour  of  being  permitted  to 
profess  myself  your  most  obedient  humble  servant. 

Mrs.  Cro.  Sir,  the  happiness  and  honour  are  all 
mine:  and  yet,  I  'm  only  robbing  the  public  while 
I  detain  you. 

Lofty.  Sink  the  public,  Madam,  when  the  fair 
are  to  be  attended.  Ah,  could  all  my  hours  be 
so  charmingly  devoted!  Sincerely,  don't  you  pity 
us  poor  creatures  in  affairs?  Thus  it  is  eternally; 
solicited  for  places  here,  teased  for  pensions  there, 
and  courted  everywhere.  I  know  you  pity  me. 
Yes,  I  see  you  do. 

Mrs.  Cro.  Excuse  me,  Sir.  "Toils  of  empires 
pleasures  are,"  as  Waller  says. 


(BooMRaturefc  flDan  47 

Lofty.     Waller,  Waller,  is  he  of  the  House  ? 

Mrs.  Cro.     The  modern  poet  of  that  name,  Sir. 

Lofty.  Oh,  a  modern!  we  men  of  business  de- 
spise the  moderns;  and  as  for  the  ancients,  we 
have  no  time  to  read  them.  Poetry  is  a  pretty 
thing  enough  for  our  wives  and  daughters;  but 
not  for  us.  Why  now,  here  I  stand  that  know 
nothing  of  books;  and  yet,  I  believe,  upon  a  land- 
carriage  fishery,  a  stamp  act,  or  a  jaghire,  I  can 
talk  my  two  hours  without  feeling  the  want  of 
them. 

Mrs.  Cro.  The  world  is  no  stranger  to  Mr. 
Lofty 's  eminence  in  every  capacity. 

Lofty.  I  vow  to  gad,  Madam,  you  make  me 
blush.  I'm  nothing,  nothing,  nothing  in  the 
world;  a  mere  obscure  gentleman.  To  be  sure, 
indeed,  one  or  two  of  the  present  ministers  are 
pleased  to  represent  me  as  a  formidable  man.  I 
know  they  are  pleased  to  bespatter  me  at  all 
their  little  dirty  levees.  Yet,  upon  my  soul,  I 
wonder  what  they  see  in  me  to  treat  me  so! 
Measures,  not  men,  have  always  been  my  mark; 
and  I  vow,  by  all  that's  honourable,  my  resent- 
ment has  never  done  the  men,  as  mere  men,  any 
manner  of  harm — that  is,  as  mere  men. 

Mrs.  Cro.  What  importance,  and  yet  what 
modesty! 


48  £be  (Boo&^matureb  fIDan 

Lofty.  Oh,  if  you  talk  of  modesty,  Madam, 
there,  I  own,  I  'm  accessible  to  praise;  modesty  is 
my  foible:  it  was  so  the  Duke  of  Brentford  use  to 
to  say  of  me.  "I  love  Jack  Lofty,"  he  used  to 
say,  "no  man  has  a  finer  knowledge  of  things; 
quite  a  man  of  information;  and,  when  he  speaks 
upon  his  legs,  by  the  Lord  he  's  prodigious,  he 
scouts  them;  and  yet  all  men  have  their  faults — 
too  much  modesty  is  his,"  says  his  Grace. 

Mrs.  Cro.  And  yet,  I  dare  say,  you  don't  want 
assurance  when  you  come  to  solicit  for  your  friends. 

Lofty.  Oh,  there  indeed  I  'm  in  bronze.  Apro- 
pos! I  have  just  been  mentioning  Miss  Rich- 
land's  case  to  a  certain  personage;  we  must  name 
no  names.  When  I  ask,  I  am  not  to  be  put  off 
Madam.  No,  no,  I  take  my  friend  by  the  button. 
— "A  fine  girl,  Sir;  great  justice  in  her  case.  A 
friend  of  mine — borough  interest — business  must 
be  done,  Mr.  Secretary. — I  say,  Mr.  Secretary, 
her  business  must  be  done,  Sir."  That  's  my 
way,  Madam. 

Mrs.  Cro.  Bless  me!  you  said  all  this  to  the 
Secretary  of  State,  did  you? 

Lofty.  I  did  not  say  the  Secretary,  did  I  ?  Well, 
curse  it,  since  you  have  found  me  out,  I  will  not 
deny  it.  It  was  to  the  Secretary. 

Mrs.  Cro.     This  was  going  to  the  fountain-head 


(Soob^lftaturefc  fIDan  49 

at  once,  not  applying  to  the  understrappers,  as 
Mr.  Honeywood  would  have  had  us. 

Lofty.  Honeywood!  he!  he!  He  was,  indeed, 
a  fine  solicitor.  I  suppose  you  have  heard  what 
has  just  happened  to  him? 

Mrs.  Cro.     Poor  dear  man!  no  accident,  I  hope? 

Lofty.  Undone,  Madam,  that  's  all.  His  cred- 
itors have  taken  him  into  custody.  A  prisoner 
in  his  own  house. 

Mrs.  Cro.  A  prisoner  in  his  own  house!  How? 
At  this  very  time?  I  'm  quite  unhappy  for  him. 

Lofty.  Why,  so  am  I.  The  man,  to  be  sure, 
was  immensely  good-natured.  But  then  I  could 
never  find  that  he  had  anything  in  him. 

Mrs.  Cro.  His  manner,  to  be  sure,  was  exces- 
sively harmless;  some,  indeed,  thought  it  a  little 
dull.  For  my  part,  I  always  concealed  my  opinion. 

Lofty.  It  can't  be  concealed,  Madam;  the  man 
was  dull,  dull  as  the  last  new  comedy!  a  poor  im- 
practicable creature!  I  tried  once  or  twice  to 
know  if  he  was  fit  for  business;  but  he  had  scarce 
talents  to  be  groom-porter  to  an  orange-barrow. 

Mrs.  Cro.  How  differently  does  Miss  Richland 
think  of  him!  for  I  believe,  with  all  his  faults,  she 
loves  him. 

Lofty.  Loves  him!  does  she?  You  should  cure 
her  of  that  by  all  means.  Let  me  see;  what  if  she 


so  Ebe  <5oob-1Ratureb  flDan 

were  sent  to  him  this  instant,  in  his  present  dole- 
ful situation?  My  life  for  it,  that  works  her  cure. 
Distress  is  a  perfect  antidote  to  love.  Suppose 
we  join  her  in  the  next  room?  Miss  Richland  is 
a  fine  girl,  has  a  fine  fortune,  and  must  not  be 
thrown  away.  Upon  my  honour,  Madam,  I  have 
a  regard  for  Miss  Richland;  and  rather  than  she 
should  be  thrown  away,  I  should  think  it  no  in- 
dignity to  marry  her  myself.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  OLIVIA  and  LEONTINE. 

Leon.  And  yet,  trust  me,  Olivia,  I  had  every 
reason  to  expect  Miss  Richland's  refusal,  as  I  did 
everything  in  my  power  to  deserve  it.  Her  indel- 
icacy surprises  me. 

Olivia.  Sure,  Leontine,  there's  nothing  so  indel- 
icate in  being  sensible  of  your  merit.  If  so,  I  fear 
I  shall  be  the  most  guilty  thing  alive. 

Leon.  But  you  mistake,  my  dear.  The  same  at- 
tention I  used  to  advance  my  merit  with  you,  I  prac- 
tised to  lessen  it  with  her.  What  more  could  I  do  ? 

Olivia.  Let  us  now  rather  consider  what  is  to 
be  done.  We  have  both  dissembled  too  long. 
I  have  always  been  ashamed — I  am  now  quite 
weary  of  it.  Sure  I  could  never  have  undergone 
so  much  for  any  other  but  you. 

Leon.     And  you  shall  find  my  gratitude  equal 


Ztbe  <5oob*1Wature&  flDan  51 

to  your  kindest  compliance.  Though  our  friends 
should  totally  forsake  us,  Olivia,  we  can  draw  upon 
content  for  the  deficiencies  of  fortune. 

Olivia.  Then  why  should  we  defer  our  scheme 
of  humble  happiness,  when  it  is  now  in  our  power? 
I  may  be  the  favourite  of  your  father,  it  is  true; 
but  can  it  ever  be  thought  that  his  present  kind- 
ness to  a  supposed  child  will  continue  to  a  known 
deceiver? 

Leon.  I  have  many  reasons  to  believe  it  will.  As 
his  attachments  are  but  few,  they  are  lasting.  His 
own  marriage  was  a  private  one,  as  ours  may  be. 
Besides,  I  have  sounded  him  already  at  a  distance, 
and  find  all  his  answers  exactly  to  our  wish.  Nay, 
by  an  expression  or  two  that  dropped  from  him, 
I  am  induced  to  think  that  he  knows  of  this  affair. 

Olivia.  Indeed.  But  that  would  be  a  happiness 
too  great  to  be  expected. 

Leon.  However  it  be,  I  'm  certain  you  have 
power  over  him;  and  I  am  persuaded,  if  you  in- 
formed him  of  our  situation,  that  he  would  be 
disposed  to  pardon  it. 

Olivia.  You  had  equal  expectations,  Leontine, 
from  your  last  scheme  with  Miss  Richland,  which 
you  find  has  succeeded  most  wretchedly. 

Leon.  And  that's  the  best  reason  for  trying 
another. 


52  £be  <5oot>*1Rature&  flDan 

Olivia.     If  it  must  be  so,  I  submit. 

Leon.     As  we  could  wish,  he  comes  this  way. 

Now,  my  dearest  Olivia,  be  resolute.     I  '11  just 

retire  within  hearing,  to  come  in  at  a  proper  time, 

either  to  share  your  danger,  or  confirm  your  victory. 

[Exit. 
Enter  CROAKER. 

Cro.  Yes,  I  must  forgive  her;  and  yet  not  too 
easily,  neither.  It  will  be  proper  to  keep  up 
to  the  decorums  of  resentment  a  little,  if  it  be  only 
to  impress  her  with  an  idea  of  my  authority. 

Olivia.  How  I  tremble  to  approach  him! — 
Might  I  presume,  Sir, — if  I  interrupt  you 

Cro.  No,  child,  where  I  have  an  affection,  it  is 
not  a  little  thing  that  can  interrupt  me.  Affection 
gets  over  little  things. 

Olivia.  Sir,  you  're  too  kind.  I  'm  sensible  how 
ill  I  deserve  this  partiality;  yet,  Heaven  knows, 
there  is  nothing  I  would  not  do  to  gain  it. 

Cro.  And  you  have  but  too  well  succeeded, 
you  little  hussy,  you.  With  those  endearing  ways 
of  yours,  on  my  conscience,  I  could  be  brought 
to  forgive  anything  unless  it  were  a  very  great 
offence  indeed. 

Olivia.  But  mine  is  such  an  offence — when 
you  know  my  guilt — yes,  you  shall  know  it, 
though  I  feel  the  greatest  pain  in  the  confession. 


SooMRatureb  fIDan  53 

Cro.  Why,  then,  if  it  be  so  very  great  a  pain, 
you  may  spare  yourself  the  trouble;  for  I  know 
every  syllable  of  the  matter  before  you  begin. 

Olivia.     Indeed!     Then  I  'm  undone. 

Cro.  Ay,  Miss,  you  wanted  to  steal  a  match, 
without  letting  me  know  it,  did  you?  But  I  'm 
not  worth  being  consulted,  I  suppose,  when  there 's 
to  be  a  marriage  in  my  own  family.  No,  I  'm 
nobody.  I  'm  to  be  a  mere  article  of  family  lum- 
ber; a  piece  of  cracked  china  to  be  stuck  up  in  a 
corner. 

Olivia.  Dear  Sir,  nothing  but  the  dread  of  your 
authority  could  induce  us  to  conceal  it  from  you. 

Cro.  No,  no,  my  consequence  is  no  more  ;  I  'm 
as  little  minded  as  a  dead  Russian  in  winter, 
just  stuck  up  with  a  pipe  in  its  mouth  till  there 
comes  a  thaw — It  goes  to  my  heart  to  vex  her. 

[Aside. 

Olivia.  I  was  prepared,  Sir,  for  your  anger, 
and  despaired  of  pardon,  even  while  I  presumed 
to  ask  it.  But  your  severity  shall  never  abate 
my  affection,  as  my  punishment  is  but  justice. 

Cro.  And  yet  you  should  not  despair,  neither, 
Livy.  We  ought  to  hope  all  for  the  best. 

Olivia.  And  do  you  permit  me  to  hope,  Sir? 
Can  I  ever  expect  to  be  forgiven?  But  hope  has 
too  long  deceived  me. 


54 

Cro.  Why  then,  child,  it  shan't  deceive  you 
now,  for  I  forgive  you  this  very  moment;  I  forgive 
you  all;  and  now  you  are  indeed  my  daughter. 

Olivia.  O  transport!  this  kindness  overpowers  me. 

Cro.  I  was  always  against  severity  to  our 
children.  We  have  been  young  and  giddy  our- 
selves, and  we  can't  expect  boys  and  girls  to  be 
old  before  their  time. 

Olivia.  What  generosity!  But  can  you  forget 
the  many  falsehoods,  the  dissimulation 

Cro.  You  did  indeed  dissemble,  you  urchin, 
but  where 's  the  girl  that  won't  dissemble  for  a 
husband  ?  My  wife  and  I  had  never  been  married 
if  we  had  not  dissembled  a  little  beforehand. 

Olivia.  It  shall  be  my  future  care  never  to  put 
such  generosity  to  a  second  trial.  And  as  for  the 
partner  of  my  offence  and  folly,  from  his  native 
honour,  and  the  just  sense  he  has  of  his  duty,  I 
can  answer  for  him  that 

Enter  LEONTINE. 

Leon.  Permit  him  thus  to  answer  for  himself 
(kneeling) .  Thus,  Sir,  let  me  speak  my  gratitude 
for  this  unmerited  forgiveness.  Yes,  Sir,  this  even 
exceeds  all  your  former  tenderness.  I  now  can 
boast  the  most  indulgent  of  fathers.  The  life  he 
gave,  compared  to  this,  was  but  a  trifling  blessing. 


<5oob*1Raturet>  flDan  55 

Cro.  And,  good  Sir,  who  sent  for  you,  with 
that  fine  tragedy  face,  and  flourishing  manner? 
I  don't  know  what  we  have  to  do  with  your  grati- 
tude upon  this  occasion. 

Leon.  How,  Sir!  Is  it  possible  to  be  silent, 
when  so  much  obliged?  Would  you  refuse  me  the 
pleasure  of  being  grateful?  of  adding  my  thanks 
to  my  Olivia's?  of  sharing  in  the  transports  that 
you  have  thus  occasioned? 

Cro.  Lord,  Sir,  we  can  be  happy  enough  without 
your  coming  in  to  make  up  the  party.  I  don't 
know  what 's  the  matter  with  the  boy  all  this  day; 
he  has  got  into  such  a  rhodomontade  manner  all 
this  morning! 

Leon.  But,  Sir,  I  that  have  so  large  a  part  in  the 
benefit,  is  it  not  my  duty  to  show  my  joy?  is  the 
being  admitted  to  your  favour  so  slight  an  obliga- 
tion? is  the  happiness  of  marrying  my  Olivia  so 
small  a  blessing? 

Cro.  Marrying  Olivia?  marrying  Olivia!  mar- 
rying his  own  sister!  Sure  the  boy  is  out  of  his 
senses.  His  own  sister! 

Leon.     My  sister! 

Olivia.     Sister!     How  have  I  been  mistaken! 

[Aside. 

Leon.     Some  cursed  mistake  in  all  this,  I  find. 

[Aside. 


56  Gbe  <5oob*Watureb  flfcan 

Cro.  What  does  the  booby  mean  ?  or  has  he  any 
meaning?  Eh,  what  do  you  mean,  you  block- 
head you  ? 

Leon.  Mean,  Sir, — why,  Sir — only  when  my  sis- 
ter is  to  be  married,  that  I  have  the  pleasure  of 
marrying  her,  Sir,  that  is,  of  giving  her  away, 
Sir — I  have  made  a  point  of  it. 

Cro.  O,  is  that  all?  Give  her  away.  You  have 
made  a  point  of  it.  Then  you  had  as  good  make 
a  point  of  first  giving  away  yourself,  as  I  'm  going 
to  prepare  the  writings  between  you  and  Miss 
Richland  this  very  minute.  What  a  fuss  is  here 
about  nothing!  Why,  what's  the  matter  now? 
I  thought  I  had  made  you  at  least  as  happy  as 
you  could  wish. 

Olivia.     O!  yes,  Sir;  very  happy. 

Cro.  Do  you  foresee  anything,  child?  You 
look  as  if  you  did.  I  think  if  anything  was  to  be 
foreseen,  I  have  as  sharp  a  look-out  as  another; 
and  yet  I  foresee  nothing.  [Exit. 

LEONTINE,  OLIVIA. 

Olivia.     What  can  it  mean? 

Leon.  He  knows  something,  and  yet  for  my 
life  I  can't  tell  what. 

Olivia.  It  can't  be  the  connection  between  us, 
I  'm  pretty  certain. 


fIDan  57 

Leon.  Whatever  it  be,  my  dearest,  I  am  re- 
solved to  put  it  out  of  fortune's  power  to  repeat 
our  mortification.  1 11  haste  and  prepare  for  our 
journey  to  Scotland  this  very  evening.  My  friend 
Honeywood  has  promised  me  his  advice  and 
assistance.  I  '11  go  to  him  and  repose  our  distresses 
on  his  friendly  bosom;  and  I  know  so  much  of 
his  honest  heart,  that  if  he  can't  relieve  our 
uneasiness,  he  will  at  least  share  them.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  THE  THIRD 

SCENE — Young  HONEYWOOD'S  House. 
Bailiff,  HONEY  WOOD,  Follower. 

Bail.  Lookye,  Sir,  I  have  arrested  as  good  men 
as  you  in  my  time:  no  disparagement  of  you 
neither:  men  that  would  go  forty  guineas  on  a 
game  of  cribbage.  I  challenge  the  town  to  show 
a  man  in  more  genteeler  practice  than  myself. 

Honey.  Without  all  question,  Mr. .  I  forget 

your  name,  Sir? 

Bail.  How  can  you  forget  what  you  never 
knew?  he!  he!  he! 

Honey.     May  I  beg  leave  to  ask  your  name? 

Bail.     Yes,  you  may. 

Honey.     Then,  pray,  Sir,  what  is  your  name? 

Bail.  That  I  did  n't  promise  to  tell  you.  He!  he! 
he!  A  joke  breaks  no  bones,  as  we  say  among 
us  that  practise  the  law. 

Honey.  You  may  have  reason  for  keeping  it  a 
secret,  perhaps? 

Bail.     The  law  does  nothing  without  reason. 

58 


(BooNIRatureb  flDan  59 

I  'm  ashamed  to  tell  my  name  to  no  man,  Sir.  If 
you  can  show  cause,  as  why,  upon  a  special  capus, 
that  I  should  prove  my  name — But,  come,  Timothy 
Twitch  is  my  name.  And,  now  you  know  my 
name,  what  have  you  to  say  to  that  ? 

Honey.  Nothing  in  the  world,  good  Mr.  Twitch, 
but  that  I  have  a  favour  to  ask,  that 's  all. 

Bail.  Ay,  favours  are  more  easily  asked  than 
granted,  as  we  say  among  us  that  practise  the 
law.  I  have  taken  an  oath  against  granting 
favours.  Would  you  have  me  perjure  myself? 

Honey.  But  my  request  will  come  recommended 
in  so  strong  a  manner  as,  I  believe,  you  11  have  no 
scruple  (pulling  out  his  purse).  The  thing  is  only 
this.  I  believe  I  shall  be  able  to  discharge  this 
trifle  in  two  or  three  days  at  farthest;  but  as  I 
would  not  have  the  affair  known  for  the  world,  I 
have  thoughts  of  keeping  you,  and  your  good 
friend  here,  about  me,  till  the  debt  is  discharged; 
for  which  I  shall  be  properly  grateful. 

Bail.  Oh !  that 's  another  maxum,  and  altogether 
within  my  oath.  For  certain,  if  an  honest  man  is 
to  get  anything  by  a  thing,  there 's  no  reason  why 
all  things  should  not  be  done  in  civility. 

Honey.  Doubtless,  all  trades  must  live,  Mr. 
Twitch;  and  yours  is  a  necessary  one. 

[Gives  him  money. 


60  Gbe  <5oo&*1Rature&  flDan 

Bail.  Oh!  your  honour,  I  hope  your  honour 
takes  nothing  amiss  as  I  does,  as  I  does  nothing 
but  my  duty  in  so  doing.  I  'm  sure  no  man  can 
say  I  ever  give  a  gentleman,  that  was  a  gentleman, 
ill  usage.  If  I  saw  that  a  gentleman  was  a  gentle- 
man, I  have  taken  money  not  to  see  him  for  ten 
weeks  together. 

Honey.     Tenderness  is  a  virtue,  Mr.  Twitch. 

Bail.  Ay,  Sir,  it 's  a  perfect  treasure.  I  love 
to  see  a  gentleman  with  a  tender  heart.  I  don't 
know,  but  I  think  I  have  a  tender  heart  myself. 
If  all  that  I  have  lost  by  my  heart  was  put  to- 
gether, it  would  make  a — but  no  matter  for 
that. 

Honey.  Don't  account  it  lost,  Mr.  Twitch. 
The  ingratitude  of  the  world  can  never  deprive  us 
of  the  conscious  happiness  of  having  acted  with 
humanity  ourselves. 

Bail.  Humanity,  Sir,  is  a  jewel.  It's  better 
than  gold.  I  love  humanity.  People  may  say 
that  we  in  our  way  have  no  humanity;  but  I  '11 
show  you  my  humanity  this  moment.  There  's 
my  follower  here,  little  Flanigan,  with  a  wife  and 
four  children,  a  guinea  or  two  would  be  more  to 
him,  than  twice  as  much  to  another.  Now,  as  I 
can't  show  him  any  humanity  myself,  I  must  beg 
leave  you  '11  do  it  for  me. 


(Boo^lRaturefc  flDan  61 

Honey.  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Twitch,  yours  is  a 
most  powerful  recommendation. 

[Giving  money  to  the  Follower. 

Bail.  Sir,  you're  a  gentleman.  I  see  you  know 
what  to  do  with  your  money.  But  to  business: 
we  are  to  be  with  you  here  as  your  friends,  I  sup- 
pose. But  set  in  case  company  comes.  Little 
Flanigan  here,  to  be  sure,  has  a  good  face,  a  very 
good  face;  but  then,  he  is  a  little  seedy,  as  we 
say  among  us  that  practise  the  law.  Not  well  in 
clothes.  Smoke  the  pocket-holes. 

Honey.  Well,  that  shall  be  remedied  without 
delay. 

Enter  Servant. 

Serv.     Sir,  Miss  Richland  is  below. 

Honey.  How  unlucky!  Detain  her  a  moment. 
We  must  improve  my  good  friend  little  Mr.  Flani- 
gan's  appearance  first.  Here,  let  Mr.  Flanigan 
have  a  suit  of  my  clothes — quick — the  brown  and 
silver.  Do  you  hear  ? 

Serv.  That  your  honour  gave  away  to  the  beg- 
ging gentleman  that  makes  verses,  because  it  was 
as  good  as  new. 

Honey.    The  white  and  gold  then. 

Serv.  That,  your  honour,  I  made  bold  to  sell, 
because  it  was  good  for  nothing. 

Honey.     Well,  the  first  that  comes  to  hand  then. 


62  Gbe  <5oob*1Flatureb  flDan 

The  blue  and  gold  then.  I  believe  Mr.  Flanigan 
will  look  best  in  blue.  [Exit  FLANIGAN. 

Bail.  Rabbit  me,  but  little  Flanigan  will  look 
well  in  anything.  Ah,  if  your  honour  knew  that 
bit  of  flesh  as  well  as  I  do  you  'd  be  perfectly  in  love 
with  him.  There  's  not  a  prettier  scout  in  the  four 
counties  after  a  shy-cock  than  he:  scents  like  a 
hound;  sticks  like  a  weasel.  He  was  master  of  the 
ceremonies  to  the  black  queen  of  Morocco,  when  I 
took  him  to  follow  me.  (Re-enter  FLANIGAN.) 
Heh,  ecod,  I  think  he  looks  so  well  that  I  don't  care 
if  I  have  a  suit  from  the  same  place  for  myself. 

Honey.  Well,  well,  I  hear  the  lady  coming. 
Dear  Mr.  Twitch,  I  beg  you  '11  give  your  friend 
directions  not  to  speak.  As  for  yourself,  I  know 
you  will  say  nothing  without  being  directed. 

Bail.  Never  you  fear  me  ;  I  '11  show  the  lady 
that  I  have  something  to  say  for  myself  as  well  as 
another.  One  man  has  one  way  of  talking,  and 
another  man  has  another,  that 's  all  the  difference 
between  them. 

Enter  Miss  RICHLAND  and  her  Maid. 

Miss  Rick.  You  '11  be  surprised,  Sir,  with  this 
visit.  But  you  know  I  'm  yet  to  thank  you  for 
choosing  my  little  library. 

Honey.     Thanks,  Madam,  are  unnecessary    as 


Gbe  <5oob*1Rature&  flDan  65 

it  was  I  that  was  obliged  by  your  commands. 
Chairs  here.  Two  of  my  very  good  friends,  Mr. 
Twitch  and  Mr.  Flanigan.  Pray,  gentlemen,  sit 
without  ceremony. 

Miss  Rich.  Who  can  these  odd-looking  men 
be!  I  fear  it  is  as  I  was  informed.  It  must  be 
so.  [Aside. 

Bail.  (After  a  pause)  Pretty  weather;  very- 
pretty  weather  for  the  time  of  year,  Madam. 

Fol.    Very  good  circuit  weather  in  the  country. 

Honey.  You  officers  are  generally  favourites 
among  the  ladies.  My  friends,  Madam,  have 
been  upon  very  disagreeable  duty,  I  assure  you. 
The  fair  should  in  some  measure  recompense  the 
toils  of  the  brave. 

Miss  Rich.  Our  officers  do  indeed  deserve 
every  favour.  The  gentlemen  are  in  the  marine 
service,  I  presume,  Sir? 

Honey.  Why,  Madam,  they  do — occasionally 
serve  in  the  fleet,  Madam.  A  dangerous  ser- 
vice! 

Miss  Rich.  I  'm  told  so.  And  I  own  it  has 
often  surprised  me,  that  while  we  have  had  so 
many  instances  of  bravery  there,  we  have  had  so 
few  of  wit  at  home  to  praise  it. 

Honey.  I  grant,  Madam,  that  our  poets  have 
not  written  as  our  soldiers  have  fought;  but  they 


64 

have  done  all  they  could,  and  Hawke  or  Amherst 
could  do  no  more. 

Miss  Rich.  I  'm  quite  displeased  when  I  see  a 
fine  subject  spoiled  by  a  dull  writer. 

Honey.  We  should  not  be  so  severe  against 
dull  writers,  Madam.  It  is  ten  to  one  but  the 
dullest  writer  exceeds  the  most  rigid  French  critic 
who  presumes  to  despise  him. 

Fol.  Damn  the  French,  the  parle  vous,  and 
all  that  belongs  to  them. 

Miss  Rich.     Sir! 

Honey.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  honest  Mr.  Flanigan.  A 
true  English  officer,  Madam;  he  's  not  contented 
with  beating  the  French,  but  he  will  scold  them 
too. 

Miss  Rich.  Yet,  Mr.  Honeywood,  this  does 
not  convince  me  but  that  severity  in  criticism  is 
necessary.  It  was  our  first  adopting  the  severity 
of  French  taste  that  has  brought  them  in  turn  to 
taste  us. 

Bail.  Taste  us!  By  the  Lord,  Madam,  they 
devour  us.  Give  monseers  but  a  taste,  and  I  '11  be 
damn'd  but  they  come  in  for  a  bellyfull. 

Miss  Rich.     Very  extraordinary  this! 

Fol.  But  very  true.  What  makes  the  bread 
rising?  the  parle  vous  that  devour  us.  What 
makes  the  mutton  fivepence  a  pound?  the  parle 


(BooMRatureb  flDan  65 

vous  that  eat  it  up.  What  makes  the  beer  three- 
pence-halfpenny a  pot  ? 1 

Honey.  Ah!  the  vulgar  rogues;  all  will  be  out 
(aside).  Right,  gentlemen,  very  right,  upon  my 
word,  and  quite  to  the  purpose.  They  draw  a 
parallel,  Madam,  between  the  mental  taste  and 
that  of  our  senses.  We  are  injured  as  much  by  the 
French  severity  in  the  one,  as  by  French  rapacity 
in  the  other.  That's  their  meaning. 

Miss  Rich.  Though  I  don't  see  the  force  of  the 
parallel,  yet  I  '11  own  that  we  should  some- 
times pardon  books,  as  we  do  our  friends,  that 
have  now  and  then  agreeable  absurdities  to  re- 
commend them. 

Bail.  That 's  all  my  eye.  The  king  only  can 
pardon,  as  the  law  says :  for,  set  in  case — 

Honey.  I  'm  quite  of  your  opinion,  Sir.  I  see 
the  whole  drift  of  your  argument.  Yes,  certainly 
our  presuming  to  pardon  any  work  is  arrogating 
a  power  that  belongs  to  another.  If  all  have 
power  to  condemn,  what  writer  can  be  free? 

Bail.  By  his  habus  corpus.  His  habus  cor- 
pus can  set  him  free  at  any  time:  for,  set  in 
case — 


»  "  Who  makes  the  quartern  loaf  and  Luddites  rise  ? 
Who  fills  the  butchers'  shops  with  large  blue  flies?" 

Rejected  Addresses  (Imitation  of  Fitzgerald.) 
VOL.  n. — 5 


66  Ebe  <5oob*1Raturet>  fl&an 

Honey.  I  'm  obliged  to  you,  Sir,  for  the  hint, 
If,  Madam,  as  my  friend  observes,  our  laws  are 
so  careful  of  a  gentleman's  person,  sure  we  ought 
to  be  equally  careful  of  his  dearer  part,  his 
fame. 

Fol.  Ay,  but  if  so  be  a  man's  nabb'd,  you 
know 

Honey.  Mr.  Flanigan,  if  you  spoke  for  ever, 
you  could  not  improve  the  last  observation.  For 
my  own  part,  I  think  it  conclusive. 

Bail.    As  for  the  matter  of  that,  mayhap 

Honey.  Nay,  Sir,  give  me  leave  in  this  instance 
to  be  positive.  For  where  is  the  necessity  of  cen- 
suring works  without  genius,  which  must  shortly 
sink  of  themselves?  what  is  it,  but  aiming  an  un- 
necessary blow  against  a  victim  already  under 
the  hands  of  justice? 

Bail.  Justice!  O,  by  the  elevens,  if  you  talk 
about  justice,  I  think  I  am  at  home  there:  for,  in 
course  of  law 

Honey.  My  dear  Mr.  Twitch,  I  discern  what 
you  'd  be  at,  perfectly;  and  I  believe  the  lady  must 
be  sensible  of  the  art  with  which  it  is  introduced. 
I  suppose  you  perceive  the  meaning,  Madam,  of 
his  course  of  law. 

Miss  Rich.  I  protest,  Sir,  I  do  not.  I  per- 
ceive only  that  you  answer  one  gentleman  before 


(Boob-matuteb  flDan  67 

he  has  finished,  and  the  other  before  he  has  well 
begun. 

Bail.  Madam,  you  are  a  gentlewoman,  and  I 
will  make  the  matter  out.  This  here  question  is 
about  severity  and  justice,  and  pardon,  and  the 
like  of  they.  Now,  to  explain  the  thing 

Honey.     O!   curse  your  explanations.    [Aside. 

Enter  Servant. 

Serv.  Mr.  Leontine,  Sir,  below,  desires  to  speak 
with  you  upon  earnest  business. 

Honey.  That 's  lucky  (aside).  Dear  Madam, 
you  11  excuse  me  and  my  good  friends  here,  for  a 
few  minutes.  There  are  books,  Madam,  to  amuse 
you.  Come,  gentlemen,  you  know  I  make  no 
ceremony  with  such  friends.  After  you,  Sir. 
Excuse  me.  Well,  if  I  must.  But  I  know  your 
natural  politeness. 

Bail.     Before  and  behind,  you  know. 

Fol.  Ay,  ay,  before  and  behind,  before  and  be- 
hind. [Exeunt  HONEYWOOD,  Bailiff  and  Follower. 

Miss  Rich.     What  can  all  this  mean,  Garnet? 

Garn.  Mean,  Madam!  why,  what  should  it  mean 
but  what  Mr.  Lofty  sent  you  here  to  see?  These 
people  he  calls  officers  are  officers  sure  enough — 
sheriff's  officers;  bailiffs,  Madam. 

Miss  Rich.    Ay,  it  is  certainly  so.   Well,  though 


68  $be  (Boob^matureb  flDan 

his  perplexities  are  far  from  giving  me  pleasure,  yet, 
I  own  there  is  something  very  ridiculous  in  them, 
and  a  just  punishment  for  his  dissimulation. 

Garn.  And  so  they  are.  But  I  wonder,  Madam, 
that  the  lawyer  you  just  employed  to  pay  his 
debts  and  set  him  free  has  not  done  it  by  this 
time.  He  ought  at  least  to  have  been  here  before 
now.  But  lawyers  are  always  more  ready  to  get  a 
man  into  troubles  than  out  of  them. 

Enter  SIR  WILLIAM  HONEYWOOD. 

Sir  Wm.  For  Miss  Richland  to  undertake 
setting  him  free,  I  own,  was  quite  unexpected.  It 
has  totally  unhinged  my  schemes  to  reclaim  him. 
Yet  it  gives  me  pleasure  to  find  that,  among  a 
number  of  worthless  friendships,  he  has  made  one 
acquisition  of  real  value;  for  there  must  be  some 
softer  passion  on  her  side  that  prompts  this  gener- 
osity. Ha!  here  before  me:  I  '11  endeavour  to 
sound  her  affections. — Madam,  as  I  am  the  person 
that  have  had  some  demands  upon  the  gentle- 
man of  this  house,  I  hope  you  11  excuse  me,  if, 
before  I  enlarged  him,  I  wanted  to  see  yourself. 

Miss  Rich.  The  precaution  was  very  unneces- 
sary, Sir.  I  suppose  your  wants  were  only  such 
as  my  agent  had  power  to  satisfy. 

Sir  Wm.     Partly,   Madam.     But    I  was   also 


flDan  69 

willing  you  should  be  fully  apprised  of  the  charac- 
ter of  the  gentleman  you  intended  to  serve. 

Miss  Rich.  It  must  come,  Sir,  with  a  very  ill 
grace  from  you.  To  censure  it  after  what  you 
have  done  would  look  like  malice;  and  to  speak 
favourably  of  a  character  you  have  oppressed 
would  be  impeaching  your  own.  And  sure,  his 
tenderness,  his  humanity,  his  universal  friendship, 
may  atone  for  many  faults. 

Sir  Wm.  That  friendship,  Madam,  which  is 
exerted  in  too  wide  a  sphere  becomes  totally  use- 
less. Our  bounty,  like  a  drop  of  water,  disappears 
when  diffused  too  widely.  They  who  pretend 
most  to  this  universal  benevolence  are  either 
deceivers  or  dupes:  men  who  desire  to  cover  their 
private  ill-nature  by  a  pretended  regard  for  all; 
or  men  who,  reasoning  themselves  into  false  feel- 
ings, are  more  earnest  in  pursuit  of  splendid  than 
of  useful  virtues. 

Miss  Rich.  I  am  surprised,  Sir,  to  hear  one 
who  has  probably  been  a  gainer  by  the  folly  of 
others  so  severe  in  his  censure  of  it. 

Sir  Wm.  Whatever  I  may  have  gained  by 
folly,  Madam,  you  see  I  am  willing  to  prevent  your 
losing  by  it. 

Miss  Rich.  Your  cares  for  me,  Sir,  are  unneces- 
sary. I  always  suspect  those  services  which  are  de- 


70  tTbe  (Boo^lftatureb  flDan 

nied  where  they  are  wanted,  and  offered  perhaps 
in  hopes  of  a  refusal.  No,  Sir,  my  directions  have 
been  given,  and  I  insist  upon  their  being  complied 
with. 

Sir  Wm.  Thou  amiable  woman!  I  can  no 
longer  contain  the  expressions  of  my  gratitude,  my 
pleasure.  You  see  before  you  one  who  has  been 
equally  careful  of  his  interest;  one  who  has  for 
some  time  been  a  concealed  spectator  of  his  follies, 
and  only  punished  in  hopes  to  reclaim  him — his 
uncle! 

Miss  Rich.  Sir  William  Honeywood!  You 
amaze  me.  How  shall  I  conceal  my  confusion? 
I  fear,  Sir,  you  11  think  I  have  been  too  forward 
in  my  services.  I  confess  I 

Sir  Wm.  Don't  make  any  apologies,  Madam. 
I  only  find  myself  unable  to  repay  the  obligation. 
And  yet,  I  have  been  trying  my  interest  of  late 
to  serve  you.  Having  learnt,  Madam,  that  you 
had  some  demands  upon  Government,  I  have, 
though  unasked,  been  your  solicitor  there. 

Miss  Rich.  Sir,  I  'm  infinitely  obliged  to  your 
attentions.  But  my  guardian  has  employed  an- 
other gentleman,  who  assures  him  of  success. 

Sir  Wm.  Who,  the  important  little  man  that 
visits  here?  Trust  me,  Madam,  he's  quite  con- 
temptible among  men  in  power,  and  utterly  unable 


(BooMRaturefc  fDan          7* 

to  serve  you.  Mr.  Lofty's  promises  are  much 
better  known  to  people  of  fashion  than  his  per- 
son, I  assure  you. 

Miss  Rich.  How  have  we  been  deceived!  As 
sure  as  can  be,  here  he  comes. 

Sir  Wm.  Does  he  ?  Remember  I  'm  to  continue 
unknown.  My  return  to  England  has  not  yet  been 
made  public.  With  what  impudence  he  enters! 

Enter  LOFTY. 

Lofty.  Let  the  chariot — let  my  chariot  drive 
off;  I  '11  visit  to  his  Grace's  in  a  chair.  Miss  Rich- 
land  here  before  me!  Punctual,  as  usual,  to  the 
calls  of  humanity.  I  'm  very  sorry,  Madam,  things 
of  this  kind  should  happen,  especially  to  a  man  I 
have  shown  everywhere,  and  carried  amongst  us 
as  a  particular  aquaintance. 

Miss  Rich.  I  find,  Sir,  you  have  the  art  of 
making  the  misfortunes  of  others  your  own. 

Lofty.  My  dear  Madam,  what  can  a  private 
man  like  me  do?  One  man  can't  do  everything; 
and  then,  I  do  so  much  in  this  way  every  day. 
Let  me  see:  something  considerable  might  be 
done  for  him  by  subscription;  it  could  not  fail 
if  I  carried  the  list.  I  '11  undertake  to  set  down 
a  brace  of  dukes,  two  dozen  lords,  and  half  the 
lower  house,  at  my  own  peril. 


72          Ebe  <5ooNflature&  flDan 

Sir  Wm.  And,  after  all,  it 's  more  than  proba- 
ble, Sir,  he  might  reject  the  offer  of  such  powerful 
patronage. 

Lofty.  Then,  Madam,  what  can  we  do?  You 
know  I  never  make  promises.  In  truth,  I  once 
or  twice  tried  to  do  something  with  him  in  the 
way  of  business;  but,  as  I  often  told  his  uncle, 
Sir  William  Honeywood,  the  man  was  utterly 
impracticable. 

Sir  Wm.  His  uncle!  then  that  gentleman,  I 
suppose,  is  a  particular  friend  of  yours. 

Lofty.  Meaning  me,  Sir?  Yes,  Madam,  as  I 
often  said,  "  My  dear  Sir  William,  you  are  sensible 
I  would  do  anything,  as  far  as  my  poor  interest 
goes,  to  serve  your  family:  but  what  can  be  done? 
there  's  no  procuring  first-rate  places  for  ninth- 
rate  abilities/* 

Miss  Rich.  I  have  heard  of  Sir  William  Hon- 
eywood; he  's  abroad  in  employment:  he  confided 
in  your  judgment,  I  suppose  ? 

Lofty.  Why,  yes,  Madam,  I  believe  Sir  William 
had  some  reason  to  confide  in  my  judgment;  one 
little  reason,  perhaps. 

Miss  Rich.     Pray,  Sir,  what  was  it? 

Lofty.  Why,  Madam — but  let  it  go  no  further — 
it  was  I  procured  him  his  place. 

Sir  Wm.     Did  you,  Sir? 


73 

Lofty.     Either  you  or  I,  Sir. 

Miss  Rich.  This,  Mr.  Lofty,  was  very  kind 
indeed. 

Lofty.  I  did  love  him,  to  be  sure;  he  had  some 
amusing  qualities;  no  man  was  fitter  to  be  a 
toast-master  to  a  club,  or  had  a  better  head. 

Miss  Rich.    A  better  head  ? 

Lofty.  Ay,  at  a  bottle.  To  be  sure,  he  was 
as  dull  as  a  choice  spirit;  but,  hang  it,  he  was 
grateful,  very  grateful;  and  gratitude  hides  a 
multitude  of  faults. 

Sir  Wm.  He  might  have  reason,  perhaps. 
His  place  is  pretty  considerable,  I  'm  told. 

Lofty.  A  trifle,  a  mere  trifle  among  us  men  of 
business.  The  truth  is,  he  wanted  dignity  to  fill 
up  a  greater. 

Sir  Wm.  Dignity  of  person,  do  you  mean, 
Sir  ?  I  'm  told  he 's  much  about  my  size  and  figure, 
Sir. 

Lofty.  Ay,  tall  enough  for  a  marching  regi- 
ment; but  then  he  wanted  a  something — a  conse- 
quence of  form — a  kind  of  a — I  believe  the  lady 
perceives  my  meaning. 

Miss  Rich.  Oh,  perfectly;  you  courtiers  can  do 
anything,  I  see. 

Lofty.  My  dear  Madam,  all  this  is  but  a  mere 
exchange;  we  do  greater  things  for  one  another 


74          £be  <5oob*1Rature&  flDan 

every  day.  Why,  as  thus,  now:  let  me  suppose 
you  the  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury;  you  have  an 
employment  in  you  that  I  want;  I  have  a  place 
in  me  that  you  want:  do  me  here,  do  you  there: 
interest  of  both  sides,  few  words,  flat,  done  and 
done,  and  it 's  over. 

Sir  Wm.  A  thought  strikes  me  (aside).  Now 
you  mention  Sir  William  Honeywood,  Madam, 
and  as  he  seems,  Sir,  an  acquaintance  of  yours, 
you  11  be  glad  to  hear  he  is  arrived  from  Italy; 
I  had  it  from  a  friend  who  knows  him  as 
well  as  he  does  me,  and  you  may  depend  on  my 
information. 

Lofty.  The  devil  he  is!  If  I  had  known  that, 
we  should  not  have  been  quite  so  well  acquainted .. 

[Aside. 

Sir  Wm.  He  is  certainly  returned;  and  as  this 
gentleman  is  a  friend  of  yours,  he  can  be  of  signal 
service  to  us,  by  introducing  me  to  him:  there  are 
some  papers  relative  to  your  affairs  that  require 
despatch,  and  his  inspection. 

Miss  Rich.  This  gentleman,  Mr.  Lofty,  is  a 
person  employed  in  my  affairs:  I  know  you  11 
serve  us. 

Lofty.  My  dear  Madam,  I  live  but  to  serve  you. 
Sir  William  shall  even  wait  upon  him,  if  you  think 
proper  to  command  it. 


fIDan  75 

Sir  Wm.     That  would  be  quite  unnecessary. 

Lofty.  Well,  we  must  introduce  you,  then. 
Call  upon  me — let  me  see — ay,  in  two  days. 

Sir  Wm.  Now,  or  the  opportunity  will  be  lost 
for  ever. 

Lofty.  Well,  if  it  must  be  now,  now  let  it  be. 
But  damn  it,  that 's  unfortunate;  my  Lord  Grig's 
cursed  Pensacola  business  comes  on  this  very  hour, 
and  I  'm  engaged  to  attend — another  time 

Sir  Wm.    A  short  letter  to  Sir  William  will  do. 

Lofty.  You  shall  have  it;  yet,  in  my  opinion, 
a  letter  is  a  very  bad  way  of  going  to  work;  face 
to  face,  that 's  the  way 

Sir  Wm.  The  letter,  Sir,  will  do  quite  as 
well. 

Lofty.  Zounds!  Sir,  do  you  pretend  to  direct 
me?  direct  me  in  the  business  of  office?  Do  you 
know  me,  Sir?  Who  am  I? 

Miss  Rich.  Dear  Mr.  Lofty,  this  request  is  not 
so  much  his  as  mine;  if  my  commands — but  you 
despise  my  power. 

Lofty.  Delicate  creature!  your  commands  could 
even  control  a  debate  at  midnight:  to  a  power  so 
constitutional,  I  am  all  obedience  and  tran- 
quillity. He  shall  have  a  letter:  where  is  my 
secretary?  Dubardieu!  And  yet,  I  protest  I 
don't  like  this  way  of  doing  business.  I  think 


76  Ebe  <3ooMRature&  fl&an 

if  I  spoke  first  to  Sir  William — But  you  will  have 
it  so. 

[Exit  with  Miss  RICHLAND. 

SIR  WILLIAM  (alone.) 

Ha,  ha,  ha! — This,  too,  is  one  of  my  nephew's 
hopeful  associates.  O  vanity,  thou  constant  de- 
ceiver, how  do  all  thy  efforts  to  exalt  serve  but  to 
sink  us!  Thy  false  colourings,  like  those  employed 
to  heighten  beauty,  only  seem  to  mend  that  bloom 
which  they  contribute  to  destroy.  I  'm  not  dis- 
pleased at  this  interview:  exposing  this  fellow's 
impudence  to  the  contempt  it  deserves,  may  be  of 
use  to  my  design;  at  least,  if  he  can  reflect,  it  will 
be  of  use  to  himself. 

Enter  JARVIS. 

Sir  Wm.  How  now,  Jarvis,  where 's  your  mas- 
ter, my  nephew? 

Jarvis.  At  his  wit's  ends,  I  believe:  he  's  scarce 
gotten  out  of  one  scrape,  but  he  's  running  his 
head  into  another. 

Sir  Wm.     How  so? 

Jarvis.  The  house  has  but  just  been  cleared  of 
the  bailiffs,  and  now  he  's  again  engaging,  tooth  and 
nail,  in  assisting  old  Croaker's  son  to  patch  up  a 
clandestine  match  with  the  young  lady  that  passes 
in  the  house  for  his  sister. 


fIDan  77 

Sir  Wm.     Ever  busy  to  serve  others. 

Jarvis.  Ay,  anybody  but  himself.  The  young 
couple,  it  seems,  are  just  setting  out  for  Scotland; 
and  he  supplies  them  with  money  for  the  journey. 

Sir  Wm.  Money!  how  is  he  able  to  supply 
others,  who  has  scarce  any  for  himself? 

Jarvis.  Why,  there  it  is:  he  has  no  money — 
that 's  true;  but  then,  as  he  never  said  "  no  "  to  any 
request  in  his  life,  he  has  given  them  a  bill,  drawn 
by  a  friend  of  his  upon  a  merchant  in  the  city, 
which  I  am  to  get  changed;  for  you  must  know 
that  I  am  to  go  with  them  to  Scotland  myself. 

Sir  Wm.     How! 

Jarvis.  It  seems  the  young  gentleman  is 
obliged  to  take  a  different  road  from  his  mistress, 
as  he  is  to  call  upon  an  uncle  of  his  that  lives  out 
of  the  way,  in  order  to  prepare  a  place  for  their 
reception  when  they  return;  so  they  have  bor- 
rowed me  from  my  master,  as  the  properest  per- 
son to  attend  the  young  lady  down. 

Sir  Wm.  To  the  land  of  matrimony!  A  pleas- 
ant journey,  Jarvis. 

Jarvis.  Ay,  but  I  'm  only  to  have  all  the  fa- 
tigues on 't. 

Sir  Wm.  Well,  it  may  be  shorter,  and  less 
fatiguing,  than  you  imagine.  I  know  but  too 
much  of  the  young  lady's  family  and  connections, 


78  Ebe  <5oot>*1Raturet>  fIDan 

whom  I  have  seen  abroad.  I  have  also  discovered 
that  Miss  Richland  is  not  indifferent  to  my  thought- 
less nephew,  and  will  endeavour,  though  I  fear  in 
vain,  to  establish  that  connection.  But,  come,  the 
letter  I  wait  for  must  be  almost  finished;  1 11  let 
you  further  into  my  intentions,  in  the  next  room. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  THE  FOURTH 

SCENE — CROAKER'S  House. 

Lofty.  Well,  sure  the  devil's  in  me  of  late,  for 
running  my  head  into  such  defiles  as  nothing  but 
a  genius  like  my  own  could  draw  me  from.  I  was 
formerly  contented  to  husband  out  my  places  and 
pensions  with  some  degree  of  frugality;  but,  curse 
it,  of  late  I  have  given  away  the  whole  Court  Reg- 
ister in  less  time  than  they  could  print  the 
title-page:  yet,  hang  it,  why  scruple  a  lie  or  two  to 
come  at  a  fine  girl,  when  I  every  day  tell  a  thou- 
sand for  nothing.  Ha!  Honeywood  here  before 
me!  Could  Miss  Richland  have  set  him  at  liberty? 

Enter  HONEYWOOD. 

Mr.  Honeywood,  I  'm  glad  to  see  you  abroad 
again.  I  find  my  concurrence  was  not  necessary 
in  your  unfortunate  affairs.  I  had  put  things  in 
a  train  to  do  your  business,  but  it  is  not  for  me  to 
say  what  I  intended  doing. 

Honey.  It  was  unfortunate  indeed,  Sir.  But 
what  adds  to  my  uneasiness  is  that,  while 

79 


<5oob*Katureb  flDan 

you  seem  to  be  acquainted  with  my  misfor- 
tune, I  myself  continue  still  a  stranger  to  my 
benefactor. 

Lofty.  How!  not  know  the  friend  that  served 
you? 

Honey.    Can't  guess  at  the  person. 

Lofty.     Inquire. 

Honey.  I  have;  but  all  I  can  learn  is  that  he 
chooses  to  remain  concealed,  and  that  all  inquiry 
must  be  fruitless. 

Lofty.     Must  be  fruitless! 

Honey.    Absolutely  fruitless. 

Lofty.     Sure  of  that? 

Honey.     Very  sure. 

Lofty.  Then  I  '11  be  damn'd  if  you  shall  ever 
know  it  from  me. 

Honey.     How,  Sir? 

Lofty.  I  suppose  now,  Mr.  Honeywood,  you 
think  my  rent-roll  very  considerable,  and  that  I 
have  vast  sums  of  money  to  throw  away;  I  know 
you  do.  The  world,  to  be  sure,  says  such  things 
of  me. 

Honey.  The  world,  by  what  I  learn,  is  no 
stranger  to  your  generosity.  But  where  does 
this  tend? 

Lofty.  To  nothing;  nothing  in  the  world.  The 
town,  to  be  sure,  when  it  makes  such  a  thing  as 


(Boob^lWaturefc  flfoan  81 

me  the  subject  of  conversation,  has  asserted  that 
I  never  yet  patronised  a  man  of  merit. 

Honey.  I  have  heard  instances  to  the  contrary, 
even  from  yourself. 

Lofty.  Yes,  Honeywood;  and  there  are  in- 
stances to  the  contrary  that  you  shall  never  hear 
from  myself. 

Honey.  Ha!  dear  Sir,  permit  me  to  ask  you  but 
one  question. 

Lofty.  Sir,  ask  me  no  questions;  I  say,  Sir,  ask 
me  no  questions;  I  '11  be  damn'd  if  I  answer 
them. 

Honey.  I  will  ask  no  further.  My  friend!  my 
benefactor!  it  is,  it  must  be  here,  that  I  am  in- 
debted for  freedom,  for  honour.  Yes,  thou  wor- 
thiest of  men,  from  the  beginning  I  suspected  it, 
but  was  afraid  to  return  thanks;  which,  if  unde- 
served, might  seem  reproaches. 

Lofty.  I  protest  I  do  not  understand  all  this, 
Mr.  Honeywood:  you  treat  me  very  cavalierly.  I 
do  assure  you,  Sir — Blood!  Sir,  can't  a  man  be 
permitted  to  enjoy  the  luxury  of  his  own  feelings, 
without  all  this  parade? 

Honey.  Nay,  do  not  attempt  to  conceal  an 
action  that  adds  to  your  honour.  Your  looks, 
your  air,  your  manner,  all  confess  it. 

Lofty.    Confess  it,  Sir!  torture  itself,  Sir,  shall 


VOL.  II.— 6 


82  Ebe  <5ooMRatureb  flDan 

never  bring  me  to  confess  it.  Mr.  Honeywood,  I 
have  admitted  you  upon  terms  of  friendship. 
Don't  let  us  fall  out;  make  me  happy,  and  let  this 
be  buried  in  oblivion.  You  know  I  hate  ostenta- 
tion; you  know  I  do.  Come,  come,  Honeywood, 
you  know  I  always  loved  to  be  a  friend,  and  not  a 
patron.  I  beg  this  may  make  no  kind  of  distance 
between  us.  Come,  come,  you  and  I  must  be  more 
familiar — indeed  we  must. 

Honey.  Heavens !  Can  I  ever  repay  such  friend- 
ship? Is  there  any  way?  Thou  best  of  men,  can 
I  ever  return  the  obligation? 

Lofty.  A  bagatelle,  a  mere  bagatelle!  But  I  see 
your  heart  is  labouring  to  be  grateful.  You  shall 
be  grateful.  It  would  be  cruel  to  disappoint  you. 

Honey.  How!  teach  me  the  manner.  Is  there 
any  way? 

Lofty.  From  this  moment  you're  mine.  Yes, 
my  friend,  you  shall  know  it — I  'm  in  love. 

Honey.     And  can  I  assist  you? 

Lofty.     Nobody  so  well. 

Honey.     In  what  manner?     I  'm  all  impatience. 

Lofty.    You  shall  make  love  for  me. 

Honey.  And  to  whom  shall  I  speak  in  your 
favour? 

Lofty.  To  a  lady  with  whom  you  have  great 
interest,  I  assure  you:  Miss  Richland. 


<Boob*1Rature&  flDan  83 

Honey.     Miss  Richland! 

Lofty.  Yes,  Miss  Richland.  She  has  struck 
the  blow  up  to  the  hilt  in  my  bosom,  by  Jupiter! 

Honey.  Heavens!  was  ever  anything  more  un- 
fortunate? It  is  too  much  to  be  endured. 

Lofty.  Unfortunate,  indeed!  And  yet  I  can 
endure  it,  till  you  have  opened  the  affair  to  her 
for  me.  Between  ourselves,  I  think  she  likes 
me.  I  'm  not  apt  to  boast,  but  I  think  she  does. 

Honey.  Indeed!  But,  do  you  know  the  person 
you  apply  to  ? 

Lofty.  Yes,  I  know  you  are  her  friend  and  mine: 
that 's  enough.  To  you,  therefore,  I  commit  the 
success  of  my  passion.  I  '11  say  no  more,  let  friend- 
ship do  the  rest.  I  have  only  to  add  that  if  at  any 
time  my  little  interest  can  be  of  service — but,  hang 
it,  1 11  make  no  promises — you  know  my  interest 
is  yours  at  any  time.  No  apologies,  my  friend,  I  '11 
not  be  answered;  it  shall  be  so.  [Exit. 

Honey.  Open,  generous,  unsuspecting  man! 
He  little  thinks  that  I  love  her  too;  and  with  such 
an  ardent  passion! — But  then  it  was  ever  but  a 
vain  and  hopeless  one;  my  torment,  my  persecu- 
tion! What  shall  I  do?  Love,  friendship;  a  hope- 
less passion,  a  deserving  friend!  Love,  that  has 
been  my  tormentor;  a  friend,  that  has,  perhaps, 
distressed  himself  to  serve  me.  It  shall  be  so. 


84  ftbe  <5oob*1Ratureb  fIDan 

Yes,  I  will  discard  the  fondling  from  my  bosom f 
and  exert  all  my  influence  in  his  favour.  And  yet 
to  see  her  in  the  possession  of  another! — Insup- 
portable! But  then  to  betray  a  generous,  trusting 
friend! — Worse,  worse!  Yes,  I  'm  resolved.  Let 
me  but  be  the  instrument  of  their  happiness,  and 
then  quit  a  country  where  I  must  for  ever  despair 
of  finding  my  own.  [Exit. 

Enter  OLIVIA  and  GARNET,  who  carries  a  milliner's  box. 

Olivia.  Dear  me,  I  wish  this  journey  was  over. 
No  news  of  Jarvis  yet?  I  believe  the  old  peevish 
creature  delays  purely  to  vex  me. 

Garnet.  Why,  to  be  sure,  Madam,  I  did  hear 
him  say  a  little  snubbing  before  marriage  would 
teach  you  to  bear  it  the  better  afterwards. 

Olivia.  To  be  gone  a  full  hour,  though  he 
had  only  to  get  a  bill  changed  in  the  city!  How 
provoking! 

Garnet.  I  '11  lay  my  life,  Mr.  Leontine,  that  had 
twice  as  much  to  do,  is  setting  off  by  this  time 
from  his  inn;  and  here  you  are  left  behind. 

Olivia.  Well,  let  us  be  prepared  for  his  coming, 
however.  Are  you  sure  you  have  omitted  nothing, 
Garnet? 

Garnet.  Not  a  stick,  Madam — all 's  here.  Yet 
I  wish  you  could  take  the  white  and  silver  to  be 


Gbe  <5oo&*1Rature&  flDan  85 

married  in.  It 's  the  worst  luck  in  the  world,  in 
anything  but  white.  I  knew  one  Bett  Stubbs, 
of  our  town,  that  was  married  in  red;  and,  as  sure 
as  eggs  is  eggs,  the  bridegroom  and  she  had  a  miff 
before  morning. 

Olivia.  No  matter.  I  'm  all  impatience  till  we 
are  out  of  the  house. 

Garnet.  Bless  me,  Madam,  I  had  almost  forgot- 
ten the  wedding  ring!  The  sweet  little  thing — I 
don't  think  it  would  go  on  my  little  finger.  And 
what  if  I  put  in  a  gentleman's  night-cap,  in  case 
of  necessity,  Madam? — But  here  's  Jarvis. 

Enter  JARVIS. 

Olivia.  O  Jarvis,  are  you  come  at  last?  We 
have  been  ready  this  half  hour.  Now  let's  be 
going.  Let  us  fly! 

Jarvis.  Ay,  to  Jericho;  for  we  shall  have  no 
going  to  Scotland  this  bout,  I  fancy. 

Olivia.     How!  what's  the  matter? 

Jarvis.  Money,  money,  is  the  matter,  Madam. 
We  have  got  no  money.  What  the  plague  do  you 
send  me  of  your  fool's  errand  for?  My  master's 
bill  upon  the  city  is  not  worth  a  rush.  Here  it  is; 
Mrs.  Garnet  may  pin  up  her  hair  with  it. 

Olivia.  Undone !  How  could  Honey  wood  serve 
us  so !  What  shall  we  do  ?  Can't  we  go  without  it  ? 


86  Gbe  <5oob*1Ratureb  flDan 

Jarvis.  Go  to  Scotland  without  money!  To 
Scotland  without  money!  Lord,  how  some  people 
understand  geography!  We  might  as  well  set  sail 
for  Patagonia  upon  a  cork- jacket. 

Olivia.  Such  a  disappointment!  What  a  base 
insincere  man  was  your  master,  to  serve  us  in  this 
manner!  Is  this  his  good-nature? 

Jarvis.  Nay,  don't  talk  ill  of  my  master, 
Madam.  I  won't  bear  to  hear  any  body  talk  ill 
of  him  but  myself. 

Garnet.  Bless  us!  now  I  think  on 't,  Madam, 
you  need  not  be  under  any  uneasiness:  I  saw  Mr. 
Leontine  receive  forty  guineas  from  his  father  just 
before  he  set  out,  and  he  can't  have  left  the  inn. 
A  short  letter  will  reach  him  there. 

Olivia.  Well  remembered,  Garnet;  I'll  write 
immediately.  How's  this!  Bless  me,  my  hand 
trembles  so,  I  can't  write  a  word.  Do  you  write, 
Garnet;  and,  upon  second  thought,  it  will  be  better 
from  you. 

Garnet.  Truly,  Madam,  I  write  and  indite  but 
poorly.  I  never  was  cute  at  my  laming.  But  I'll 
do  what  I  can  to  please  you.  Let  me  see.  All 
out  of  my  own  head,  I  suppose! 

Olivia.     Whatever  you  please. 

Garnet.  (Writing).  Muster  Croaker — Twenty 
guineas,  Madam? 


nDan  87 

Olivia.    Ay,  twenty  will  do. 

Garnet.  At  the  bar  of  the  Talbot  till  called  for. 
Expedition — Will  be  blown  up — All  of  a  flame — 
Quick  dispatch — Cupid  the  little  god  of  love. — I 
conclude  it,  Madam,  with  Cupid!  I  love  to  see  a 
love-letter  end  like  poetry. 

Olivia.  Well,  well,  what  you  please,  anything. 
But  how  shall  we  send  it  ?  I  can  trust  none  of  the 
servants  of  this  family. 

Garnet.  Odso,  Madam,  Mr.  Honeywood's  but- 
ler is  in  the  next  room:  he's  a  dear,  sweet  man;  hell 
do  anything  for  me. 

Jarvis.  He !  the  dog !  he  '11  certainly  commit  some 
blunder.  He's  drunk  and  sober  ten  times  a-day. 

Olivia.  No  matter.  Fly,  Garnet;  anybody  we 
can  trust  will  do.  (Exit  GARNET.)  Well,  Jarvis, 
now  we  can  have  nothing  more  to  interrupt  us;  you 
may  take  up  the  things,  and  carry  them  on  to  the 
inn.  Have  you  no  hands,  Jarvis  ? 

Jarvis.  Soft  and  fair,  young  lady.  You,  that 
are  going  to  be  married,  think  things  can  never  be 
done  too  fast;  but  we,  that  are  old,  and  know  what 
we  are  about,  must  elope  methodically,  Madam. 

Olivia.  Well,  sure,  if  my  indiscretions  were  to 
be  done  over  again — 

Jarvis.  My  life  for  it,  you  would  do  them  ten 
times  over. 


88  Gbe  <5ooMRatureb  flDan 

Olivia.  Why  will  you  talk  so?  If  you  knew 
how  unhappy  they  make  me — 

Jarvis.  Very  unhappy,  no  doubt:  I  was  once 
just  as  unhappy  when  I  was  going  to  be  married 
myself.  I'll  tell  you  a  story  about  that — 

Olivia.  A  story!  when  I'm  all  impatience  to  be 
away.  Was  there  ever  such  a  dilatory  creature! — 

Jarvis.  Well,  Madam,  if  we  must  march,  why 
we  will  march,  that's  all.  Though,  odds-bobs,  we 
have  still  forgot  one  thing;  we  should  never  travel 
without — a  case  of  good  razors,  and  a  box  of  shav- 
ing powder.  But  no  matter,  I  believe  we  shall 
be  pretty  well  shaved  by  the  way.  [Going. 

Enter  GARNET. 

Garnet.  Undone,  undone,  Madam.  Ah,  Mr. 
Jarvis,  you  said  right  enough.  As  sure  as  death, 
Mr.  Honeywood's  rogue  of  a  drunken  butler  drop- 
ped the  letter  before  he  went  ten  yards  from  the 
door.  There 's  old  Croaker  has  just  picked  it  up,  and 
is  this  moment  reading  it  to  himself  in  the  hall. 

Olivia.     Unfortunate !  we  shall  be  discovered. 

Garnet.  No  Madam;  don't  be  uneasy;  he  can 
neither  make  head  nor  tail  of  it.  To  be  sure  he 
looks  as  if  he  was  broke  loose  from  Bedlam  about 
it,  but  he  can't  find  what  it  means  for  all  that.  O 
lud,  he  is  coming  this  way  all  in  the  horrors. 


89 

Olivia.  Then  let  us  leave  the  house  this  instant, 
for  fear  he  should  ask  further  questions.  In  the 
mean  time,  Garnet,  do  you  write  and  send  off  just 
such  another.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  CROAKER. 

Cro.  Death  and  destruction!  Are  all  the  hor- 
rors of  air,  fire,  and  water,  to  be  levelled  only  at 
me?  Am  I  only  to  be  singled  out  for  gunpowder 
plots,  combustibles,  and  conflagration?  Here  it 
is — an  incendiary  letter  dropped  at  my  door.  ' '  To 
Muster  Croaker,  these  with  speed."  Ay,  ay,  plain 
enough  the  direction:  all  in  the  genuine  incendiary 
spelling,  and  as  cramp  as  the  devil.  ' '  With  speed. " 
O,  confound  your  speed.  But  let  me  read  it  once 
more.  (Reads.)  "  Muster  Croaker,  as  sone  as  yow 
see  this,  leve  twenty  gunnes  at  the  bar  of  the  Tal- 
boot  tell  caled  for,  or  yowe  and  yower  experetion 
will  be  al  blown  up."  Ah,  but  too  plain.  Blood 
and  gunpowder  in  every  line  of  it.  Blown  up! 
murderous  dog!  all  blown  up!  Heavens!  what  have 
I  and  my  poor  family  done,  to  be  all  blown  up? 
(Reads.)  ' '  Our  pockets  are  low,  and  money  we  must 
have."  Ay,  there  's  the  reason;  they  11  blow  us  up, 
because  they  have  got  low  pockets.  (Reads)  ' '  It  is 
but  a  short  time  you  have  to  consider;  for  if  this 
takes  the  wind,  the  house  will  quickly  be  all  of  a 


90  Ebe  <5oob*mature&  fIDan 

flame."  Inhuman  monsters!  blow  us  up,  and  then 
burn  us!  The  earthquake  at  Lisbon  was  but  a  bon- 
fire to  it.  (Reads.)  "Make  quick  dispatch,  and  so 
no  more  at  present.  But  may  Cupid,  the  little  god 
of  love,  go  with  you  wherever  you  go."  The  little 
god  of  love!  Cupid,  the  little  god  of  love,  go  with 
me!  Go  you  to  the  devil,  you  and  your  little  Cupid 
together.  I  'm  so  frightened,  I  scarce  know  whether 
I  sit,  stand,  or  go.  Perhaps  this  moment  I  'm 
treading  on  lighted  matches,  blazing  brimstone, 
and  barrels  of  gunpowder.  They  are  preparing  to 
blow  me  up  into  the  clouds.  Murder!  we  shall  be  all 
burnt  in  our  beds;  we  shall  be  all  burnt  in  our  beds. 

Enter  Miss  HIGHLAND. 

Miss  Rich.     Lord,  Sir,  what's  the  matter  ? 

Cro.  Murder's  the  matter?  We  shall  all  be 
blown  up  in  our  beds  before  morning. 

Miss  Rich.     I  hope  not,  Sir. 

Cro.  What  signifies  what  you  hope,  Madam, 
when  I  have  a  certificate  of  it  here  in  my  hand? 
Will  nothing  alarm  my  family  ?  Sleeping  and  eat- 
ing, sleeping  and  eating,  is  the  only  work  from 
morning  till  night  in  my  house.  My  insensible 
crew  could  sleep  though  rocked  by  an  earthquake, 
and  fry  beefsteaks  at  a  volcano. 

Miss  Rich.    But,  Sir,  you  have  alarmed  them 


<5oo&-*Rature&  flDan  91 

so  often  already;  we  have  nothing  but  earthquakes, 
famines,  plagues,  and  mad  dogs,  from  year's  end 
to  year's  end.  You  remember,  Sir,  it  is  not  above 
a  month  ago,  you  assured  us  of  a  conspiracy  among 
the  bakers,  to  poison  us  in  our  bread;  and  so  kept 
the  whole  family  a  week  upon  potatoes. 

Cro.  And  potatoes  were  too  good  for  them. 
But  why  do  I  stand  talking  here  with  a  girl,  when 
I  should  be  facing  the  enemy  without?  Here, 
John,  Nicodemus,  search  the  house.  Look  into 
the  cellars,  to  see  if  there  be  any  combustibles  be- 
low; and  above,  in  the  apartments,  that  no  matches 
be  thrown  in  at  the  windows.  Let  all  the  fires  be 
put  out,  and  let  the  engine  be  drawn  out  in  the 
yard,  to  play  upon  the  house  in  case  of  necessity. 

[Exit. 

Miss  Rich.  (Alone.)  What  can  he  mean  by  all 
this?  Yet  why  should  I  inquire,  when  he  alarms 
us  in  this  manner  almost  every  day.  But  Honey- 
wood  has  desired  an  interview  with  me  in  private. 
What  can  he  mean?  or  rather,  what  means  this  pal- 
pitation at  his  approach  ?  It  is  the  first  time  he  ever 
showed  anything  in  his  conduct  that  seemed  partic- 
ular. Sure  he  cannot  mean  to — but  he  's  here. 

Enter  HONEYWOOD. 
Honey.     I  presumed  to  solicit  this  interview, 


92  Efoe  <5oo&*l*atureb  flDan 

Madam,  before  I  left  town,  to  be  permitted 

Miss  Rich.     Indeed !  leaving  town,  Sir  ? — 

Honey.  Yes,  Madam;  perhaps  the  kingdom. 
I  have  presumed,  I  say,  to  desire  the  favour  of  this 
interview, — in  order  to  disclose  something  which 
our  long  friendship  prompts.  And  yet  my  fears — 

Miss  Rich.  His  fears!  What  are  his  fears  to 
mine!  (Aside.)  We  have  indeed  been  long  ac- 
quainted, Sir;  very  long.  If  I  remember,  our 
first  meeting  was  at  the  French  ambassador's. — 
Do  you  recollect  how  you  were  pleased  to  rally  me 
upon  my  complexion  there  ? 

Honey.  Perfectly,  Madam:  I  presumed  to  re- 
prove you  for  painting;  but  your  warmer  blushes 
soon  convinced  the  company  that  the  colouring 
was  all  from  nature. 

Miss  Rich.  And  yet  you  only  meant  it  in  your 
good-natured  way,  to  make  me  pay  a  compliment 
to  myself.  In  the  same  manner  you  danced  that 
night  with  the  most  awkward  woman  in  company, 
because  you  saw  nobody  else  would  take  her  out. 

Honey.  Yes;  and  was  rewarded  the  next  night, 
by  dancing  with  the  finest  woman  in  company, 
whom  everybody  wished  to  take  out. 

Miss  Rich.  Well,  Sir,  if  you  thought  so  then, 
I  fear  your  judgment  has  since  corrected  the  errors 
of  a  first  impression.  We  generally  show  to  most 


94  Gbe  <3oot>*1Ratureb  flDan 

Miss  Rich.  I  fear,  Sir,  I  shall  never  find  whom 
you  mean,  by  this  description  of  him. 

Honey.  Ah,  Madam,  it  but  too  plainly  points 
him  out;  though  he  should  be  too  humble  himself 
to  urge  his  pretensions,  or  you  too  modest  to 
understand  them. 

Miss  Rick.  Well;  it  would  be  affectation  any 
longer  to  pretend  ignorance;  and  I  will  own,  Sir, 
I  have  long  been  prejudiced  in  his  favour.  It  was 
but  natural  to  wish  to  make  his  heart  mine,  as  he 
seemed  himself  ignorant  of  its  value. 

Honey.  I  see  she  always  loved  him  (Aside). 
I  find,  Madam,  you  're  already  sensible  of  his 
worth,  his  passion.  How  happy  is  my  friend,  to 
be  the  favourite  of  one  with  such  sense  to  distin- 
guish merit,  and  such  beauty  to  reward  it. 

Miss  Rick.     Your  friend,  Sir !     What  friend  ? 

Honey.  My  best  friend — my  friend,  Mr.  Lofty, 
Madam. 

Miss  Rick.     He,  Sir! 

Honey.  Yes,  he,  Madam.  He  is,  indeed,  what 
your  warmest  wishes  might  have  formed  him;  and 
to  his  other  qualities  he  adds  that  of  the  most 
passionate  regard  for  you. 

Miss  Rick.    Amazement! — No  more  of  this, 
I  beg  you,  Sir. 

Honey.     I  see  your  confusion,  Madam,  and  know 


<5ooMRature&  flDan          95 

how  to  interpret  it.  And,  since  I  so  plainly  read 
the  language  of  your  heart,  shall  I  make  my  friend 
happy,  by  communicating  your  sentiments? 

Miss  Rich.     By  no  means. 

Honey.    Excuse  me,  I  must;  I  know  you  desire  it. 

Miss  Rich.  Mr.  Honeywood,  let  me  tell  you 
that  you  wrong  my  sentiments  and  yourself.  When 
I  first  applied  to  your  friendship,  I  expected  ad- 
vice and  assistance;  but  now,  Sir,  I  see  it  is  in  vain 
to  expect  happiness  from  him,  who  has  been  so  bad 
an  economist  of  his  own;  and  that  I  must  disclaim 
his  friendship  who  ceases  to  be  a  friend  to  himself. 

[Exit. 

Honey.  How  is  this!  she  has  confessed  she  loved 
him,  and  yet  she  seemed  to  part  in  displeasure. 
Can  I  have  done  anything  to  reproach  myself  with  ? 
No,  I  believe  not:  yet  after  all,  these  things  should 
not  be  done  by  a  third  person:  I  should  have  spared 
her  confusion.  My  friendship  carried  me  a  little 
too  far. 

Enter  CROAKER,  with  the  letter  in  his  hand,  and 
MRS.  CROAKER. 

Mrs.  Cro.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  And  so,  my  dear,  it 's 
your  supreme  wish  that  I  should  be  quite  wretched 
upon  this  occasion?  ha!  ha! 

Cro.  (Mimicking.)     Ha!  ha!  ha!    And  so,  my 


96          £be  GooNflatureb  nDan 

dear,  it 's  your  supreme  pleasure  to  give  me  no 
better  consolation  ? 

Mrs.  Cro.  Positively,  my  dear;  what  is  this  in- 
cendiary stuff  and  trumpery  to  me?  our  house 
may  travel  through  the  air  like  the  house  of 
Loretto,  for  aught  I  care,  if  I  am  to  be  miserable 
in  it. 

Cro.  Would  to  Heaven  it  were  converted  into 
a  house  of  correction  for  your  benefit.  Have  we 
not  everything  to  alarm  us?  Perhaps  this  very 
moment  the  tragedy  is  beginning. 

Mrs.  Cro.  Then  let  us  reserve  our  distress  till 
the  rising  of  the  curtain,  or  give  them  the  money 
they  want,  and  have  done  with  them. 

Cro.  Give  them  my  money! — And  pray,  what 
right  have  they  to  my  money  ? 

Mrs.  Cro.  And  pray,  what  right  then  have  you 
to  my  good-humour  ? 

Cro.  And  so  your  good-humour  advises  me  to 
part  with  my  money?  Why  then,  to  tell  your 
good-humour  a  piece  of  my  mind,  I'd  sooner  part 
with  my  wife.  Here 's  Mr.  Honeywood,  see  what 
he  '11  say  to  it.  My  dear  Honeywood,  look  at  this 
incendiary  letter  dropped  at  my  door.  It  will 
freeze  you  with  terror;  and  yet  lovey  here  can  read 
it — can  read  it  and  laugh! 

Mrs.  Cro.    Yes,  and  so  will  Mr.  Honeywood. 


<5oot>*1ftature&  flDan          97 

Cro.  If  he  does,  I'll  suffer  to  be  hang  'd  the 
next  minute  in  the  rogue's  place,  that 's  all. 

Mrs.  Cro.  Speak,  Mr.  Honeywood;  is  there  any- 
thing more  foolish  than  my  husband's  fright  upon 
this  occasion? 

Honey.  It  would  not  become  me  to  decide, 
Madam;  but,  doubtless,  the  greatness  of  his  terrors 
now  will  but  invite  them  to  renew  their  villany 
another  time. 

Mrs.  Cro.     I  told  you  he  'd  be  of  my  opinion. 

Cro.  How,  Sir!  do  you  maintain  that  I  should 
lie  down  under  such  an  injury,  and  show,  neither 
by  my  tears  nor  complaints,  that  I  have  something 
of  the  spirit  of  a  man  in  me  ? 

Honey.  Pardon  me,  Sir.  You  ought  to  make 
the  loudest  complaints,  if  you  desire  redress.  The 
surest  way  to  have  redress,  is  to  be  earnest  in  the 
pursuit  of  it. 

Cro.    Ay,  whose  opinion  is  he  of  now  ? 

Mrs.  Cro.  But  don't  you  think  that  laughing 
off  our  fears  is  the  best  way  ? 

Honey.  What  is  the  best,  Madam,  few  can  say; 
but  I  '11  maintain  it  to  be  a  very  wise  way. 

Cro.  But  we  're  talking  of  the  best.  Surely 
the  best  way  is  to  face  the  enemy  in  the  field,  and 
not  wait  till  he  plunders  us  in  our  very  bed- 
chamber. 

VOL.  II. — 7 


98          Gbe  <5oob*1Rature&  flDan 

Honey.  Why,  Sir,  as  to  the  best,  that — that 's 
a  very  wise  way  too. 

Mrs.  Cro.  But  can  anything  be  more  absurd 
than  to  double  our  distresses  by  our  apprehensions, 
and  put  it  in  the  power  of  every  low  fellow,  that 
can  scrawl  ten  words  of  wretched  spelling,  to 
torment  us? 

Honey.     Without  doubt,  nothing  more  absurd. 

Cro.  How!  would  it  not  be  more  absurd  to  de- 
spise the  rattle  till  we  are  bit  by  the  snake. 

Honey.     Without  doubt,  perfectly  absurd. 

Cro.     Then  you  are  of  my  opinion. 

Honey.     Entirely. 

Mrs.  Cro.    And  you  reject  mine  ? 

Honey.  Heav  'ns  forbid,  Madam!  No  sure, 
no  reasoning  can  be  more  just  than  yours.  We 
ought  certainly  to  despise  malice  if  we  cannot  op- 
pose it,  and  not  make  the  incendiary's  pen  as  fatal 
to  our  repose  as  the  highwayman's  pistol. 

Mrs.  Cro.     O  !  then  you  think  I  'm  quite  right  ? 

Honey.     Perfectly  right. 

Cro.  A  plague  of  plagues,  we  can  't  be  both 
right.  I  ought  to  be  sorry  or  I  ought  to  be  glad. 
My  hat  must  be  on  my  head,  or  my  hat  must  be  off. 

Mrs.  Cro.  Certainly,  in  two  opposite  opinions, 
if  one  be  perfectly  reasonable,  the  other  can't  be 
perfectly  right. 


(Boob^atureb  flDan          99 

Honey.  And  why  may  not  both  be  right, 
Madam?  Mr.  Croaker  in  earnestly  seeking  re- 
dress, and  you  in  waiting  the  event  with  good- 
humour?  Pray,  let  me  see  the  letter  again.  I 
have  it.  This  letter  requires  twenty  guineas  to  be 
left  at  the  bar  of  the  Talbot  Inn.  If  it  be  indeed  an 
incendiary  letter,  what  if  you  and  I,  Sir,  go  there; 
and,  when  the  writer  comes  to  be  paid  for  his 
expected  booty,  seize  him? 

Cro.  My  dear  friend,  it  's  the  very  thing;  the 
very  thing.  While  I  walk  by  the  door,  you  shall 
plant  yourself  in  ambush  near  the  bar;  burst  out 
upon  the  miscreant  like  a  masked  battery;  extort  a 
confession  at  once,  and  so  hang  him  up  by  surprise. 

Honey.  Yes,  but  I  would  not  choose  to  exercise 
too  much  severity.  It  is  my  maxim,  Sir,  that 
crimes  generally  punish  themselves. 

Cro.  Well,  but  we  may  upbraid  him  a  little,  I 
suppose?  (Ironically.) 

Honey.     Ay,  but  not  punish  him  too  rigidly. 

Cro.  Well,  well,  leave  that  to  my  own 
benevolence. 

Honey.  Well,  I  do;  but  remember,  that  univer- 
sal benevolence  is  the  first  law  of  nature. 

[Exeunt  HONEYWOOD  and  MRS.  CROAKER. 

Cro.  Yes;  and  my  universal  benevolence  will 
hang  the  dog,  if  he  had  as  many  necks  as  a  hydra. 


ACT  THE  FIFTH 

Scene — An  Inn. 
Enter  OLIVIA,  JAR  vis. 

Olivia.  Well,  we  have  got  safe  to  the  inn,  how- 
ever. Now,  if  the  post-chaise  were  ready — 

Jarvis.  The  horses  are  just  finishing  their  oats; 
and,  as  they  are  not  going  to  be  married,  they 
choose  to  take  their  own  time. 

Olivia.  You  are  forever  giving  wrong  motives 
to  my  impatience. 

Jarvis.  Be  as  impatient  as  you  will,  the  horses 
must  take  their  own  time;  besides,  you  don't 
consider  we  have  got  no  answer  from  our  fellow- 
traveller  yet.  If  we  hear  nothing  from  Mr. 
Leontine,  we  have  only  one  way  left  us. 

Olivia.     What  way  ? 

Jarvis.    The  way  home  again. 

Olivia.  Not  so.  I  have  made  a  resolution  to 
go,  and  nothing  shall  induce  me  to  break  it. 

Jarvis.  Ay;  resolutions  are  well  kept,  when 
they  jump  with  inclination.  However,  I  '11  go 


100 


101 

hasten  things  without.  And  I  '11  call,  too,  at  the 
bar,  to  see  if  anything  should  be  left  for  us  there. 
Don't  be  in  such  a  plaguy  hurry,  Madam,  and  we 
shall  go  the  faster,  I  promise  you.  [Exit  JAR  vis. 

Enter  Landlady. 

Land.  What!  Solomon,  why  don  't  you  move? 
Pipes  and  tobacco  for  the  Lamb  there. — Will  no- 
body answer?  To  the  Dolphin:  quick.  The  Angel 
has  been  outrageous  this  half  hour.  Did  your  lady- 
ship call,  Madam? 

Olivia.     No,  Madam. 

Land.  I  find  as  you  're  for  Scotland,  Madam. — 
But  that 's  no  business  of  mine;  married,  or  not 
married,  I  ask  no  questions.  To  be  sure  we  had  a 
sweet  little  couple  set  off  from  this  two  days 
ago  for  the  same  place.  The  gentleman,  for  a 
tailor,  was,  to  be  sure,  as  fine  a  spoken  tailor  as  ever 
blew  froth  from  a  full  pot.  And  the  young  lady 
so  bashful,  it  was  near  half  an  hour  before  we  could 
get  her  to  finish  a  pint  of  raspberry  between  us. 

Olivia.  But  this  gentleman  and  I  are  not  going 
to  be  married,  I  assure  you. 

Land.  May  be  not.  That 's  no  business  of 
mine;  for  certain,  Scotch  marriages  seldom  turn 
out. — There  was,  of  my  own  knowledge,  Miss  Mac- 
fag,  that  married  her  father's  footman — Alack-a- 


102         £be  (Boo^lRatureb  flDan 

day,  she  and  her  husband  soon  parted,  and  now 
keep  separate  cellars  in  Hedge-lane.1 

Olivia.  A  very  pretty  picture  of  what  lies  before 
me.  [Aside. 

Enter  LEONTINB. 

Leon.  My  dear  Olivia,  my  anxiety,  till  you 
were  out  of  danger,  was  too  great  to  be  resisted.  I 
could  not  help  coming  to  see  you  set  out,  though 
it  exposes  us  to  discovery. 

Olivia.  May  everything  you  do  prove  as  for- 
tunate. Indeed,  Leontine,  we  have  been  most 
cruelly  disappointed.  Mr.  Honeywood's  bill  upon 
the  city  has,  it  seems,  been  protested,  and  we  have 
been  utterly  at  a  loss  how  to  proceed. 

Leon.  How!  an  offer  of  his  own  too.  Sure,  he 
could  not  mean  to  deceive  us? 

Olivia.  Depend  upon  his  sincerity;  he  only 
mistook  the  desire  for  the  power  of  serving  us. 
But  let  us  think  no  more  of  it.  I  believe  the  post- 
chaise  is  ready  by  this. 

Land.  Not  quite  yet;  and,  begging  your  lady- 
ship's pardon,  I  don't  think  your  ladyship  quite 
ready  for  the  post-chaise.  The  north  road  is  a 
cold  place,  Madam.  I  have  a  drop  in  the  house 


1  Among  the  Essays  in  vol.  ii.  is  a  capital  paper  on  this  subject, 
entitled  A  Register  of  Scotch  Marriages. 


<5oob*1Ratureb  flDan  103 

of  as  pretty  raspberry  as  ever  was  tipt  over  tongue. 
Just  a  thimble-full  to  keep  the  wind  off  your 
stomach.  To  be  sure,  the  last  couple  we  had  here, 
they  said  it  was  a  perfect  nosegay.  Ecod,  I  sent 
them  both  away  as  good-natured — Up  went  the 
blinds,  round  went  the  wheels,  and  "  Drive  away, 
post-boy,"  was  the  word. 

Enter  CROAKER. 

Cro.  Well,  while  my  friend  Honeywood  is  upon 
the  post  of  danger  at  the  bar,  it  must  be  my  busi- 
ness to  have  an  eye  about  me  here.  I  think  I 
know  an  incendiary 's  look;  for  wherever  the  devil 
makes  a  purchase,  he  never  fails  to  set  his  mark. 
Ha!  who  have  we  here?  My  son  and  daughter! 
What  can  they  be  doing  here? 

Land.  I  tell  you,  Madam,  it  will  do  you  good; 
I  think  I  know  by  this  time  what's  good  for  the 
north  road.  It 's  a  raw  night,  Madam. — Sir — 

Leon.  Not  a  drop  more,  good  Madam.  I 
should  now  take  it  as  a  greater  favour,  if  you 
hasten  the  horses,  for  I  am  afraid  to  be  seen 
myself. 

Land.  That  shall  be  done.  Wha,  Solomon! 
are  you  all  dead  there ?  Wha,  Solomon,  I  say! 

[Exit,  bawling. 

Olivia.     Well,  I  dread  lest  an  expedition  begun 


104 

in  fear,  should  end  in  repentance. — Every  moment 
we  stay  increases  our  danger,  and  adds  to  my 
apprehensions. 

Leon.  There  's  no  danger,  trust  me,  my  dear, 
there  can  be  none.  If  Honeywood  has  acted  with 
honour,  and  kept  my  father,  as  he  promised,  in 
employment  till  we  are  out  of  danger,  nothing  can 
interrupt  our  journey. 

Olivia.  I  have  no  doubt  of  Mr.  Honeywood's 
sincerity,  and  even  his  desires  to  serve  us.  My 
fears  are  from  your  father's  suspicions.  A  mind 
so  disposed  to  be  alarmed  without  a  cause,  will  be 
but  too  ready  when  there  's  a  reason. 

Leon.  Why,  let  him,  when  we  are  out  of  his 
power.  But  believe  me,  Olivia,  you  have  no  great 
reason  to  dread  his  resentment.  His  repining 
temper,  as  it  does  no  manner  of  injury  to  himself, 
so  will  it  never  do  harm  to  others.  He  only  frets 
to  keep  himself  employed,  and  scolds  for  his  private 
amusement. 

Olivia.  I  don't  know  that ;  but  I  'm  sure,  on 
some  occasions  it  makes  him  look  most  shock- 
ingly. 

CROAKER,  discovering  himself. 

How  does  he  look  now? — How  does  he  look 
now? 


105 

Olivia.    Ah! 

Leon.     Undone! 

Cro.  How  do  I  look?  Sir,  I  am  your  very 
humble  servant.  Madam,  I  am  yours.  What, 
you  are  going  off,  are  you?  Then,  first,  if  you 
please,  take  a  word  or  two  from  me  with  you  be- 
fore you  go.  Tell  me  first  where  you  are  going; 
and  when  you  have  told  me  that,  perhaps  I  shall 
know  as  little  as  I  did  before. 

Leon.  If  that  be  so,  our  answer  might  but  in- 
crease your  displeasure,  without  adding  to  your 
information. 

Cro.  I  want  no  information  from  you,  puppy: 
and  you  too,  good  Madam,  what  answer  have  you 
got?  Eh!  (A  cry  without,  "Stop  him/'1)  I  think  I 
I  heard  a  noise.  My  friend  Honeywood  without — 
has  he  seized  the  incendiary?  Ah,  no;  for  now  I 
hear  no  more  on  't. 

Leon.  Honeywood  without!  Then,  Sir,  it  was 
Mr.  Honeywood  that  directed  you  hither? 

Cro.  No,  Sir,  it  was  Mr.  Honeywood  conducted 
me  hither. 

Leon.     Is  it  possible? 

Cro.  Possible!  Why  he  's  in  the  house  now, 
Sir;  more  anxious  about  me  than  my  own  son,  Sir. 

Leon.     Then,  Sir,  he  's  a  villain. 

Cro.     How,  sirrah!  a  villain,  because  he  takes 


io6  £be  <5oot>*1Flatureb  fIDan 

most  care  of  your  father?  I  '11  not  bear  it.  I  tell 
you  I  11  not  bear  it.  Honeywood  is  a  friend  to 
the  family,  and  I  '11  have  him  treated  as 
such. 

Leon.  I  shall  study  to  repay  his  friendship  as 
it  deserves. 

Cro.  Ah,  rogue,  if  you  knew  how  earnestly  he 
entered  into  my  griefs,  and  pointed  out  the  means 
to  detect  them,  you  would  love  him  as  I  do.  (A 
cry  without, l l  Stop  him! " )  Fire  and  fury !  they  have 
seized  the  incendiary:  they  have  the  villain,  the 
incendiary  in  view!  Stop  him!  stop  an  incendiary! 
a  murderer!  stop  him!  [Exit. 

Olivia.  O,  my  terrors!  What  can  this  tumult 
mean? 

Leon.  Some  new  mark,  I  suppose,  of  Mr.  Honey- 
wood's  sincerity.  But  we  shall  have  satisfaction: 
he  shall  give  me  instant  satisfaction. 

Olivia.  It  must  not  be,  my  Leontine,  if  you 
value  my  esteem  or  my  happiness.  Whatever 
be  our  fate,  let  us  not  add  guilt  to  our  misfortunes 
— Consider  that  our  innocence  will  shortly  be  all 
that  we  have  left  us.  You  must  forgive  him. 

Leon.  Forgive  him!  Has  he  not  in  every  in- 
stance betrayed  us  ?  Forced  me  to  borrow  money 
from  him,  which  appears  a  mere  trick  to  delay 
us;  promised  to  keep  my  father  engaged  till  we 


ZTbe  <5oot>*Kature&  fRan          107 

were  out  of  danger,  and  here  brought  him  to  the 
very  scene  of  our  escape  ? 

Olivia.  Don't  be  precipitate.  We  may  yet  be 
mistaken. 

Enter  Postboy,  dragging  in  JARVIS;  HONBYWOOD  entering 

soon  after. 

Post.  Ay,  master,  we  have  him  fast  enough. 
Here  is  the  incendiary  dog.  I  'm  entitled  to  the 
reward:  I  '11  take  my  oath  I  saw  him  ask  for  the 
money  at  the  bar,  and  then  run  for  it. 

Honey.  Come,  bring  him  along.  Let  us  see 
him.  Let  him  learn  to  blush  for  his  crimes.  (Dis- 
covering his  mistake.)  Death!  what 's  here?  Jar- 
vis,  Leontine,  Olivia!  What  can  all  this  mean  ? 

Jarvis.  Why,  1 11  tell  you  what  it  means:  that 
I  was  an  old  fool,  and  that  you  are  my  master — 
that 's  all. 

Honey.     Confusion! 

Leon.  Yes,  Sir,  I  find  you  have  kept  your  word 
with  me.  After  such  baseness,  I  wonder  how  you 
can  venture  to  see  the  man  you  have  injured  ? 

Honey.  My  dear  Leontine,  by  my  life,  my 
honour — 

Leon.  Peace,  peace,  for  shame;  and  do  not  con- 
tinue to  aggravate  baseness  by  hypocrisy.  I 
know  you,  Sir,  I  know  you. 


io8 

Honey.  Why  won't  you  hear  me  ?  By  all  that 's 
just  I  knew  not — 

Leon.  Hear  you,  Sir!  to  what  purpose?  I  now 
see  through  all  your  low  arts;  your  ever  complying 
with  every  opinion;  your  never  refusing  any  re- 
quest: your  friendship  as  common  as  a  prostitute's 
favours,  and  as  fallacious;  all  these,  Sir,  have  long 
been  contemptible  to  the  world,  and  are  now 
perfectly  so  to  me. 

Honey.  Ha!  contemptible  to  the  world!  that 
reaches  me.  [Aside. 

Leon.  All  the  seeming  sincerity  of  your  pro- 
fessions, I  now  find,  were  only  allurements  to 
betray;  and  all  your  seeming  regret  for  their  con- 
sequences, only  calculated  to  cover  the  cowardice 
of  your  heart.  Draw,  villain ! 

Enter  CROAKER,  out  of  breath. 

Cro.  Where  is  the  villain?  Where  is  the  incen- 
diary? (Seizing  the  Postboy.)  Hold  him  fast,  the 
dog:  he  has  the  gallows  in  his  face.  Come,  you  dog, 
confess;  confess  all,  and  hang  yourself. 

Postboy.  Zounds!  master,  what  do  you  throttle 
me  for? 

Cro.  (Beating  him.)  Dog,  do  you  resist?  do  you 
resist? 

Postboy.    Zounds,  master,  I  'm  not  he;  there  's 


(Boob^atureb  flDan          109 

the  man  that  we  thought  was  the  rogue,  and  turns 
out  to  be  one  of  the  company. 

Cro.    How! 

Honey.  Mr.  Croaker,  we  have  all  been  under  a 
strange  mistake  here;  I  find  there  is  nobody  guilty; 
it  was  all  an  error;  entirely  an  error  of  our  own. 

Cro.  And  I  say,  Sir,  that  you  're  in  ari  error; 
for  there  's  guilt  and  double  guilt;  a  plot,  a  damned 
Jesuitical,  pestilential  plot,  and  I  must  have  proof 
of  it. 

Honey.     Do  but  hear  me. 

Cro.  What,  you  intend  to  bring  'em  off,  I  sup- 
pose ?  1 11  hear  nothing. 

Honey.  Madam,  you  seem  at  least  calm  enough 
to  hear  reason. 

Olivia.     Excuse  me. 

Honey.  Good  Jarvis,  let  me  then  explain  it  to 
you. 

Jarvis.  What  signifies  explanations  when  the 
thing  is  done? 

Honey.  Will  nobody  hear  me?  Was  there 
ever  such  a  set  so  blinded  by  passion  and  prejudice! 
(To  the  Postboy.)  My  good  friend,  I  believe  you  '11 
be  surprised  when  I  assure  you — 

Postboy.  Sure  me  nothing — I  'm  sure  of  no- 
thing but  a  good  beating. 

Cro.    Come  then,  you,  Madam,  if  you  ever  hope 


1 10          Gbe  <5ooMFlature&  flDan 

for  any  favour  or  forgiveness,  tell  me  sincerely  all 
you  know  of  this  affair. 

Olivia.  Unhappily,  Sir,  I  'm  but  too  much  the 
cause  of  your  suspicions;  you  see  before  you,  Sir, 
one  that  with  false  pretences  has  stept  into  your 
family  to  betray  it;  not  your  daughter — 

Cro.     Not  my  daughter ! 

Olivia.  Not  your  daughter — but  a  mean  de- 
ceiver— who — support  me,  I  cannot — 

Honey.     Help,  she  's  going;  give  her  air. 

Cro.  Ay,  ay,  take  the  young  woman  to  the  air; 
I  would  not  hurt  a  hair  of  her  head,  whose  ever 
daughter  she  may  be — not  so  bad  as  that  neither. 

[Exeunt  all  but  CROAKER. 

Cro.  Yes,  yes,  all 's  out;  I  now  see  the  whole 
affair:  my  son  is  either  married,  or  going  to  be  so, 
to  this  lady,  whom  he  imposed  upon  me  as  his  sister. 
Ay,  certainly  so,  and  yet  I  don't  find  it  afflicts  me 
so  much  as  one  might  think.  There  's  the  advan- 
tage of  fretting  away  our  misfortunes  beforehand, 
we  never  feel  them  when  they  come. 

Enter  Miss  RICHLAND  and  SIR  WILLIAM. 

Sir  Wm.  But  how  do  you  know,  Madam,  that 
my  nephew  intends  setting  off  from  this  place  ? 

Miss  Rich.  My  maid  assured  me  he  was  come 
to  this  inn;  and  my  own  knowledge  of  his  intending 


(BooNWaturet)  fIDan 

to  leave  the  kingdom  suggested  the  rest.  But,  what 
do  I  see!  my  guardian  here  before  us!  Who,  my 
dear  Sir,  could  have  expected  meeting  you  here? 
to  what  accident  do  we  owe  this  pleasure? 

Cro.    To  a  fool,  I  believe. 

Miss  Rich.     But  to  what  purpose  did  you  come  ? 

Cro.     To  play  the  fool. 

Miss  Rich.     But  with  whom  ? 

Cro.     With  greater  fools  than  myself. 

Miss  Rich.     Explain. 

Cro.  Why,  Mr.  Honeywood  brought  me  here, 
to  do  nothing  now  I  am  here;  and  my  son  is  going 
to  be  married  to  I  don't  know  who,  that  is  here: 
so  now  you  are  as  wise  as  I  am. 

Miss  Rich.     Married!  to  whom,  Sir? 

Cro.  To  Olivia,  my  daughter,  as  I  took  her  to 
be;  but  who  the  devil  she  is,  or  whose  daughter  she 
is,  I  know  no  more  than  the  man  in  the  moon. 

Sir  Wm.  Then,  Sir,  I  can  inform  you;  and, 
though  a  stranger,  yet  you  shall  find  me  a  friend 
to  your  family.  It  will  be  enough  at  present  to 
assure  you,  that  both  in  point  of  birth  and  fortune 
the  young  lady  is  at  least  your  son's  equal.  Being 
left  by  her  father,  Sir  James  Woodville — 

Cro.     Sir  James  Woodville!  What,  of  the  west? 

Sir  Wm.  Being  left  by  him,  I  say,  to  the  care  of 
a  mercenary  wretch,  whose  only  aim  was  to  secure 


flDan 

her  fortune  to  himself,  she  was  sent  to  France,  un- 
der pretence  of  education;  and  there  every  art  was 
tried  to  fix  her  for  life  in  a  convent,  contrary  to 
her  inclinations.  Of  this  I  was  informed  upon  my 
arrival  at  Paris;  and,  as  I  had  been  once  her  father's 
friend,  I  did  all  in  my  power  to  frustrate  her 
guardian's  base  intentions.  I  had  even  meditated 
to  rescue  her  from  his  authority,  when  your  son 
stepped  in  with  more  pleasing  violence,  gave  her 
liberty,  and  you  a  daughter. 

Cro.  But  I  intend  to  have  a  daughter  of  my  own 
choosing,  Sir.  A  young  lady,  Sir,  whose  fortune, 
by  my  interest  with  those  who  have  interest,  will  be 
double  what  my  son  has  a  right  to  expect.  Do 
you  know  Mr.  Lofty,  Sir? 

Sir  Wm.  Yes,  Sir;  and  know  that  you  are  de- 
ceived in  him.  But  step  this  way,  and  1 11  con- 
vince you. 

[CROAKER  and  SIR  WILLIAM  seem  to  confer. 

Enter  HONEYWOOD. 

Honey.  Obstinate  man,  still  to  persist  in  his 
outrage!  Insulted  by  him,  despised  by  all,  I  now 
begin  to  grow  contemptible  even  to  myself.  How 
have  I  sunk  by  too  great  an  assiduity  to  please! 
How  have  I  overtaxed  all  my  abilities,  lest  the 
approbation  of  a  single  fool  should  escape  me! 


(Boo^Watureb  flDan          113 

But  all  is  now  over;  I  have  survived  my  reputation, 
my  fortune,  my  friendships,  and  nothing  remains 
henceforward  for  me  but  solitude  and  repentance. 

Miss  Rich.  Is  it  true  Mr.  Honeywood,  that 
you  are  setting  off,  without  taking  leave  of  your 
friends?  The  report  is  that  you  are  quitting  Eng- 
land. Can  it  be? 

Honey.  Yes,  Madam;  and  though  I  am  so  un- 
happy as  to  have  fallen  under  your  displeasure, 
yet,  thank  Heaven!  I  leave  you  to  happiness;  to 
one  who  loves  you,  and  deserves  your  love:  to  one 
who  has  power  to  procure  you  affluence,  and  gener- 
osity to  improve  your  enjoyment  of  it. 

Miss  Rich.  And  are  you  sure,  Sir,  that  the  gen- 
tleman you  mean  is  what  you  describe  him  ? 

Honey.  I  have  the  best  assurances  of  it — his 
serving  me.  He  does  indeed  deserve  the  highest 
happiness,  and  that  is  in  your  power  to  confer. 
As  for  me,  weak  and  wavering  as  I  have  been, 
obliged  by  all,  and  incapable  of  serving  any,  what 
happiness  can  I  find  but  in  solitude?  what  hope, 
but  in  being  forgotten  ? 

Miss  Rich.  A  thousand!  to  live  among  friends 
that  esteem  you,  whose  happiness  it  will  be  to  be 
permitted  to  oblige  you. 

Honey.  No,  Madam,  my  resolution  is  fixed. 
Inferiority  among  strangers  is  easy;  but  among 


VOL.   II.— 8 


H4  Gbe  <5oo5*Watureb  flDan 

those  that  were  once  equals,  insupportable.  Nay, 
to  show  how  far  my  resolution  can  go,  I  can  now 
speak  with  calmness  of  my  former  follies,  my 
vanity,  my  dissipation,  my  weakness.  I  will  even 
confess,  that,  among  the  number  of  my  other  pre- 
sumptions, I  had  the  insolence  to  think  of  loving 
you.  Yes,  Madam,  while  I  was  pleading  the  pas- 
sion of  another,  my  heart  was  tortured  with  its 
own.  But  it  is  over;  it  was  unworthy  our  friend- 
ship, and  let  it  be  forgotten. 

Miss  Rich.     You  amaze  me ! 

Honey.  But  you  '11  forgive  it,  I  know  you  will; 
since  the  confession  should  not  have  come  from 
me  even  now,  but  to  convince  you  of  the  sincerity 
of  my  intention  of — never  mentioning  it  more. 

[Going. 

Miss  Rich.  Stay,  Sir,  one  moment — Ha!  he 
here — 

Enter  LOFTY. 

Lofty.  Is  the  coast  clear?  None  but  friends? 
I  have  followed  you  here  with  a  trifling  piece  of 
intelligence;  but  it  goes  no  further;  things  are 
not  yet  ripe  for  discovery.  I  have  spirits  working 
at  a  certain  board;  your  affair  at  the  Treasury 
will  be  done  in  less  than — a  thousand  years. 
Mum! 


(Boo^Waturefc  flfoan  us 

Miss  Rich.     Sooner,  Sir,  I  should  hope. 

Lofty.  Why,  yes,  I  believe  it  may,  if  it  falls  into 
proper  hands,  that  know  where  to  push  and  where 
to  parry;  that  know  how  the  land  lies- — eh,  Honey- 
wood? 

Miss  Rich.     It  is  fallen  into  yours. 

Lofty.  Well,  to  keep  you  no  longer  in  suspense, 
your  thing  is  done.  It  is  done,  I  say — that 's  all. 
I  have  just  had  assurances  from  Lord  Neverout, 
that  the  claim  has  been  examined,  and  found  ad- 
missible. Quietus  is  the  word,  Madam. 

Honey.  But  how?  his  lordship  has  been  at  New- 
market these  ten  days. 

Lofty.  Indeed!  Then  Sir  Gilbert  Goose  must 
have  been  most  damnably  mistaken.  I  had  it  of 
him. 

Miss  Rich.  He!  why  Sir  Gilbert  and  his  family 
have  been  in  the  country  this  month. 

Lofty.  This  month!  It  must  certainly  be  so — 
Sir  Gilbert's  letter  did  come  to  me  from  Newmar- 
ket, so  that  he  must  have  met  his  Lordship  there; 
and  so  it  came  about.  I  have  his  letter  about  me; 
I  '11  read  it  to  you — (Taking  out  a  large  bundle). 
That 's  from  Paoli  of  Corsica;  that  from  the  Mar- 
quis of  Squilachi. — Have  you  a  mind  to  see  the  let- 
ter from  Count  Poniatowski,  now  King  of  Poland? 
— Honest  Pon — (Searching).  O,  Sir,  what  are 


(BooMRaturefc 

you  here,  too?  1 11  tell  you  what,  honest  friend, 
if  you  have  not  absolutely  delivered  my  letter  to 
Sir  William  Honeywood,  you  may  return  it.  The 
thing  will  do  without  him. 

Sir  Wm.  Sir,  I  have  delivered  it;  and  must  in- 
form you,  it  was  received  with  the  most  mortifying 
contempt. 

Cro.   Contempt !  Mr.  Lofty,  what  can  that  mean  ? 

Lofty.  Let  him  go  on,  let  him  go  on,  I  say.  You  11 
find  it  come  to  something  presently. 

Sir  Wm.  Yes,  Sir;  I  believe  you  11  be  amazed, 
if  after  waiting  some  time  in  the  ante-chamber; 
after  being  surveyed  with  insolent  curiosity  by  the 
passing  servants,  I  was  at  last  assured,  that  Sir 
William  Honeywood  knew  no  such  a  person,  and 
I  must  certainly  have  been  imposed  upon. 

Lofty.    Good!  let  me  die;  very  good.   Ha!  ha!  ha! 

Cro.  Now,  for  my  life,  I  can't  find  out  half  the 
goodness  of  it. 

Lofty.    You  can't.     Ha!  ha! 

Cro.  No,  for  the  soul  of  me!  I  think  it  was  as 
confounded  a  bad  answer  as  ever  was  sent  from 
one  private  gentleman  to  another. 

Lofty.  And  so  you  can't  find  out  the  force  of 
the  message?  Why,  I  was  in  the  house  at  that 
very  time.  Ha!  ha!  It  was  I  that  sent  that  very 
answer  to  my  own  letter.  Ha!  ha! 


Cro.     Indeed!  How?  why? 

Lofty.  In  one  word,  things  between  Sir  William 
and  me  must  be  behind  the  curtain.  A  party  has 
many  eyes.  He  sides  with  Lord  Buzzard,  I  side 
with  Sir  Gilbert  Goose.  So  that  unriddles  the 
mystery. 

Cro.  And  so  it  does,  indeed;  and  all  my  sus- 
picions are  over. 

Lofty.  Your  suspicions!  What,  then,  you 
have  been  suspecting,  have  you?  Mr.  Croaker, 
you  and  I  were  friends;  we  are  friends  no  longer. 
Never  talk  to  me.  It 's  over;  I  say,  it 's  over. 

Cro.  As  I  hope  for  your  favour  I  did  not  mean 
to  offend.  It  escaped  me.  Don't  be  discomposed. 

Lofty.  Zounds!  Sir,  but  I  am  discomposed, 
and  will  be  discomposed.  To  be  treated  thus! 
Who  am  I?  Was  it  for  this  I  have  been  dreaded 
both  by  ins  and  outs?  Here  I  have  been  libelled 
in  the  Gazetteer,  and  praised  in  the  St.  James's? 
have  I  been  chaired  at  Wildman's  and  a  speaker 
at  Merchant  Tailors'  Hall?  have  I  had  my  hand  to 
addresses,  and  my  head  in  the  print-shops;  and 
talk  to  me  of  suspects  ? 

Cro.  My  dear  Sir,  be  pacified.  What  can  you 
have  but  asking  pardon? 

Lofty.  Sir,  I  will  not  be  pacified — Suspects! 
Who  am  I?  To  be  used  thus!  Have  I  paid  court 


us  £be  (Boo^lRatureb  flfcan 

to  men  in  favour  to  serve  my  friends;  the  Lords  of 
the  Treasury,  Sir  William  Honeywood,  and  the 
rest  of  the  gang,  and  talk  to  me  of  suspects?  Who 
am  I,  I  say;  who  am  I  ? 

Sir  Wm.  Since,  you  're  so  pressing  for  an  an- 
swer, I  '11  tell  you  who  you  are: — A  gentleman,  as 
well  acquainted  with  politics  as  with  men  in 
power;  as  well  acquainted  with  persons  of  fashion 
as  with  modesty;  with  Lords  of  the  Treasury 
as  with  truth;  and  with  all,  as  you  are  with 
Sir  William  Honeywood.  I  am  Sir  William 
Honeywood.  (Discovering  his  ensigns  of  the 
Bath.) 

Cro.     Sir  William  Honeywood  ! 

Honey.    Astonishment !  my  uncle !        [Aside. 

Lofty.  So  then,  my  confounded  genius  has  been 
all  this  time  only  leading  me  up  to  the  garret,  in 
order  to  fling  me  out  of  the  window. 

Cro.  What,  Mr.  Importance,  and  are  these  your 
works?  Suspect  you!  You,  who  have  been 
dreaded  by  the  ins  and  outs;  you,  who  have  had 
your  hand  to  addresses,  and  your  head  stuck  up  in 
print-shops.  If  you  were  served  right,  you  should 
have  your  head  stuck  up  in  the  pillory. 

Lofty.  Ay,  stick  it  where  you  will;  for,  by  the 
Lord,  it  cuts  but  a  poor  figure  where  it  sticks  at 
present. 


(BooMRaturet)  flfean          119 

Sir  Wm.  Well,  Mr.  Croaker,  I  hope  you  now 
see  how  incapable  this  gentleman  is  of  serving  you, 
and  how  little  Miss  Richland  has  to  expect  from 
his  influence. 

Cro.  Ay,  Sir,  too  well  I  see  it ;  and  I  can't  but 
say  I  have  had  some  boding  of  it  these  ten  days. 
So,  I  'm  resolved,  since  my  son  has  placed  his  affec- 
tions on  a  lady  of  moderate  fortune,  to  be  satisfied 
with  his  choice,  and  not  run  the  hazard  of  another 
Mr.  Lofty  in  helping  him  to  a  better. 

Sir  Wm.  I  approve  your  resolution;  and  here 
they  come  to  receive  a  confirmation  of  your  pardon 
and  consent. 

Enter  MRS.  CROAKER,  JARVIS,  LEONTINE,  and  OLIVIA. 

Mrs.  Cro.  Where 's  my  husband  ?  Come,  come, 
lovey,  you  must  forgive  them.  Jarvis  here  has 
been  to  tell  me  the  whole  affair;  and  I  say,  you 
must  forgive  them.  Our  own  was  a  stolen  match, 
you  know,  my  dear;  and  we  never  had  any  reason 
to  repent  of  it. 

Cro.  I  wish  we  could  both  say  so.  However, 
this  gentleman,  Sir  William  Honeywood,  has  been 
beforehand  with  you  in  obtaining  their  pardon. 
So,  if  the  two  poor  fools  have  a  mind  to  marry,  I 
think  we  can  tack  them  together  without  crossing 
the  Tweed  for  it. 


120          £be  (BooMRatureb  ffoan 

[Joining  their  hands. 

Leon.  How  blest  and  unexpected !  What,  what 
can  we  say  to  such  goodness?  But  our  future 
obedience  shall  be  the  best  reply.  And  as  for  this 
gentleman,  to  whom  we  owe — 

Sir  Wm.  Excuse  me,  Sir,  if  I  interrupt  your 
thanks,  as  I  have  here  an  interest  that  calls  me. — 
(Turning  to  HONEYWOOD.)  Yes,  Sir,  you  are  sur- 
prised to  see  me:  and  I  own  that  a  desire  of  correct- 
ing your  follies  led  me  hither.  I  saw  with  indig- 
nation, the  errors  of  a  mind  that  only  sought 
applause  from  others;  that  easiness  of  disposition 
which,  though  inclined  to  the  right,  had  not  the 
courage  to  condemn  the  wrong.  I  saw  with  regret 
those  splendid  errors,  that  still  took  name  from 
some  neighbouring  duty;  your  charity,  that  was 
but  injustice;  your  benevolence,  that  was  but 
weakness;  and  your  friendship,  but  credulity.  I 
saw  with  regret  great  talents  and  extensive 
learning  only  employed  to  add  sprightliness  to 
error,  and  increase  your  perplexities.  I  saw  your 
mind  with  a  thousand  natural  charms;  but  the 
greatness  of  its  beauty  served  only  to  heighten 
my  pity  for  its  prostitution. 

Honey.  Cease  to  upbraid  me,  Sir:  I  have  for 
some  time  but  too  strongly  felt  the  justice  of 
your  reproaches.  But  there  is  one  way  still  left 


<5ooN1RatureJ>  fIDan          121 

me.  Yes,  Sir,  I  have  determined  this  very  hour 
to  quit  for  ever  a  place  where  I  have  made  myself 
the  voluntary  slave  of  all,  and  to  seek  among  stran- 
gers that  fortitude  which  may  give  strength  to 
the  mind,  and  marshal  all  its  dissipated  virtues. 
Yet  ere  I  depart,  permit  me  to  solicit  favour  for 
this  gentleman;  who,  notwithsatnding  what  has 
happened,  has  laid  me  under  the  most  signal 
obligations.  Mr.  Lofty — 

Lofty.  Mr.  Honeywood,  I  'm  resolved  upon  a 
reformation  as  well  as  you.  I  now  begin  to  find 
that  the  man  who  first  invented  the  art  of  speaking 
truth,  was  a  much  cunninger  fellow  than  I  thought 
him.  And  to  prove  that  I  design  to  speak  truth 
for  the  future,  I  must  now  assure  you,  that  you 
owe  your  late  enlargement  to  another;  as,  upon 
my  soul,  I  had  no  hand  in  the  matter.  So  now, 
if  any  of  the  company  has  a  mind  for  preferment, 
he  may  take  my  place;  I  'm  determined  to  resign. 

[Exit. 

Honey.     How  have  I  been  deceived! 

Sir  Wm.  No,  Sir,  you  have  been  obliged  to  a 
kinder,  fairer  friend,  for  that  favour — To  Miss  Rich- 
land.  Would  she  complete  our  joy,  and  make  the 
man  she  has  honoured  by  her  friendship  happy  in 
her  love,  I  should  then  forget  all,  and  be  as  blest 
as  the  welfare  of  my  dearest  kinsman  can  make  me. 


122         Gbe  (Boot^lRatureb  fIDan 


Miss  Rich.  After  what  is  passed  it  would  be 
but  affectation  to  pretend  to  indifference.  Yes,  I 
will  own  an  attachment,  which  I  find  was  more 
than  friendship.  And  if  my  entreaties  cannot 
alter  his  resolution  to  quit  the  country,  I  will  even 
try  if  my  hand  has  not  power  to  detain  him. 

[Giving  her  hand. 

Honey.  Heavens!  how  can  I  have  deserved 
all  this?  How  express  my  happiness,  my  grati- 
tude? A  moment  like  this  overpays  an  age  of 
apprehension. 

Cro.  Well,  now  I  see  content  in  every  face; 
but  Heaven  send  we  be  all  better  this  day  three 
months! 

Sir  Wm.  Henceforth,  nephew,  learn  to  respect 
yourself.  He  who  seeks  only  for  applause  from 
without,  has  all  his  happiness  in  another's  keeping. 

Honey.  Yes.  Sir,  I  now  too  plainly  perceive 
my  errors;  my  vanity,  in  attempting  to  please  all 
by  fearing  to  offend  any;  my  meanness,  in  approv- 
ing folly  lest  fools  should  disapprove.  Henceforth, 
therefore,  it  shall  be  my  study  to  reserve  my  pity 
for  real  distress;  my  friendship  for  true  merit;  and 
my  love  for  her,  who  first  taught  me  what  it  is  to 
be  happy, 


EPILOGUE^ 

Spoken  by  Mrs.  Bulkley 

AS  puffing  quacks  some  caitiff  wretch  procure 
To  swear  the  pill,  or  drop,  has  wrought  a  cure; 
Thus,  on  the  stage,  our  playwrights  still  depend, 
For  Epilogues  and  Prologues  on  some  friend, 
Who  knows  each  art  of  coaxing  up  the  town, 
And  make  full  many  a  bitter  pill  go  down. 
Conscious  of  this,  our  bard  has  gone  about, 
And  teaz'd  each  rhyming  friend  to  help  him  out. 
An  Epilogue,  things  can't  go  on  without  it; 
It  could  not  fail,  would  you  but  set  about  it. 
Young  man,  cries  one  (a  bard  laid  up  in  clover), 
Alas!  young  man,  my  writing  days  are  over; 
Let  boys  play  tricks,  and  kick  the  straw,  not  I; 
Your  brother  Doctor  there,  perhaps,  may  try. 
What  I !  dear  Sir,  the  Doctor  interposes ; 
What,  plant  my  thistle,  Sir,  among  the  roses! 


1  The  author,  in  expectation  of  an  Epilogue  from  a  friend  at 
Oxford,  deferred  writing  one  himself  till  the  very  last  hour.  What 
is  here  offered  owes  all  its  success  to  the  graceful  manner  of  the 
Actress  who  spoke  it — GOLDSMITH. 

123 


124  Epilogue 

No,  no,  I've  other  contests  to  maintain; 
To-night  I  head  our  troops  at  Warwick-lane.1 
Go  ask  your  manager — Who,  me!  Your  pardon; 
Those  things  are  not  our  forte  at  Covent  Garden. 
Our  author's  friends,  thus  plac'd  at  happy  distance, 
Give  him  good  words  indeed,  but  no  assistance. 
As  some  unhappy  wight  at  some  new  play, 
At  the  pit  door  stands  elbowing  away; 
While  oft,  with  many  a  smile,  and  many  a  shrug, 
He  eyes  the  centre,  where  his  friends  sit  snug; 
His  simpering  friends,  with  pleasure  in  their  eyes, 
Sink  as  he  sinks,  and  as  he  rises  rise : 
He  nods,  they  nod;  he  cringes,  they  grimace; 
But  not  a  soul  will  budge  to  give  him  place. 
Since  then,  unhelp'd,  our  bard  must  now  conform 
'To  'bide  the  pelting  of  this  pitiless  storm/ 
Blame  where  you  must,  be  candid  where  you  can, 
And  be  each  critic  the  Good-natured  Man. 


Where  the  College  of  Physicians  then  stood. 


IS  DUE  ON 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall 


r.-13'D  LD 

(1P.T  1  1  Infi? 

r-v'54f?£ 

*~^,  »^-i    r-~.  ,  _B 

rxc,C  D  L.D 

4*  At  i  -i    r 

WV1  3'84  -WAV 

1930 


LD  21A-50m-3,'62 
(C7097slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFORNIA  LIBRARY 


